THE 


IEK 


By  CHARLES  SOMERVILLE 


£  I 


L 


IBRARY 


MISS    VERBEENA  MAYONNAISE  IN    ALL  HER  WONDROUS 
BOYISH  GRACE  AND  BEAUTY. 


THE  SHRIEK 


THE  SHRIEK 


A  Satirical  Burlesque 


BY 


CHARLES   SOMERVILLE 


With  illustrations 
BY  THE  AUTHOR 


NEW  YORK 

W.  J.  WATT  &  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COFYHIGKT,    1922,    BY 

W.  J.  WATT  &  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


THE  SHRIEK 


CHAPTER   I 

11  A  RE  you  comin'  to  the  dawncin',  Lady 
/"\  Speedway?"  asked  the  American  in  his 
best  transatlantic  liner  accent 

"Most  decidedly  not!" 

Mind  you,  this  answer  from  Lady  Speedway 
meant  red  lights  ahead. 

At  the  Hotel  Biscuit  she  had  the  authority  of 
a  traffic  policeman  as  to  whom  were  who  as  well 
as  what  was  what  regarding  the  foreign  colony 
tirelessly  wasting  its  time  on  the  verge  of  the 
tawny  Sahara. 

She  was  the  Field  Marshal  of  the  Front 
Porch  Knitting  Needle  Hussars,  nicknamed 
"Hussies." 

Her  approbation  was  olive  oil;  her  discoun 
tenance  prickly  heat. 

"Of  course,"  she  added,  "while  recognizing 


2  THE  SHRIEK 

that  expatiation  does  not  include  brevity,  one 
may  not  stand  as  I  do  now — in  the  soft  light  of 
the  balcony  and  well  off  the  main  scene,  I  hope 
you  observe — without  declaring  one's  self  ag 
gressively  out  of  sympathy  with  the  madden 
ingly  awful  expedition  of  which  this  dance  is 
the  insolubly  idiotic  inauguration. 

"To  give  my  opinion  concisely,  plainly, 
briefly,  without  ratiocinations,  fulminations,  ob 
scurations,  diversions,  digressions  or  nuances,  I 
go  on  record  as  saying  that  this  flapper,  Ver- 
beena  Mayonnaise, — the  absurd  chit — is  impos 
sible!" 

"O,  me  lady!" 

"Yes,  I  am.  And  that's  more  than  Verbeena 
Mayonnaise  will  find  herself  if  she  insists  on 
carrying  on  in  this  matter. 

"A  lone  girl,  crossing  the  desert  with  only 
native  camel  drivers  and  servants  in  attendance! 
Chaperoned  only  by  her  hand  luggage!  The 
idea  is  rhapsodically  rancid! 

"The  rash  creature  is  simply  throwing  her 
good  name  to  the  American  Sunday  supple 
ments  and  Margot  Asquith  at  'ome." 

The  American  trembled. 


THE  SHRIEK 


3 


"Not,"  said  Lady  Speedway  letting  out  a  few 
buckles  in  her  necklace,  "that  I'll  need  to  take 
any  sleeping  powders  over  that  feature  of  the 


LADY    SPEEDWAY,  WHO    HAD    THE     AUTHORITY 
OF  A  TRAFFIC   POLICEMAN   AS  TO    SOCIAL    MAT 
TERS  AT  THE  HOTEL  BISCUIT. 


4  THE  SHRIEK 

affair.  But  its  effect  on  the  Continent!  The 
puncture  it  is  bound  to  give  British  prestige! 

"We  English  cannot  be  too  careful  of  our 
*hY  and  this  mad  girl  picks  the  Sahara! 

"I  think  only  of  what  La  Vie  Parisienne  will 
have  to  say  about  it  and  I  blush  all  over.  In 
this  gown  you  will,  I  think,  be  able  to  see  most 
of  it" 

"O,  come,  Lady  Speedway!" 

"Where  to?" 

"I  mean  it's  not  quite  as  bad  as  all  that!  In 
planning  this  lone  desert  trip  Verbeena  may  be 
doing  something  on  the  brink  of  the  very-very, 
but,"  said  the  American  stoutly,  "one  has  to  con 
sider  the  jolly  queer  childhood  circumstances  of 
the  ripping  little  rotter." 

"My  dear  man,  unless  I've  had  a  crack  of  am 
nesia  don't  you  suppose  I  know  positively  that 
the  entire  Mayonnaise  outfit  was  designed  as 
dressing  for  a  nut  salad?" 

"Indeed?" 

"Rather!  But  mark  my  words,  if  she  per 
sists  in  this  scandalous  venture  she'd  best  make 
her  explanations  in  Arabic  when  she  gets  back. 
Her  story  will  sound  a  bit  garish  in  English  I 


THE  SHRIEK  5 

fancy!  A  single  gel — a  flapper — amid  a 
flock  of  males  Orientally  disposed!  Why " 

Drawing  her  wrap  around  her  as  far  as  it 
would  go,  Lady  Speedway  shook  her  dependent 
chins  vigorously  and  departed. 

"Oh,  my  word  and  tosh!"  exclaimed  the 
American.  "Old  scandal  sprinkler  1" 

"Good  heavens!"  cried  his  phlegmatic  British 
companion,  "isn't  it  true  how  one  misses  one's 
opportunities?  Here  I've  known  Verbeena 
Mayonnaise  all  her  life  and  never  a  breath  of 
scandal  has  touched  her! 

"In  the  first  place,  you  know,  Verbeena  isn't 
a  mere  human  girl.  She  had  an  uncle  who  was 
an  old  pig,  her  father  was  a  balmy  bloater  and 
her  brother  is  an  ass!" 

"O,  I  say,  really?"  asked  the  American,  finger 
ing  the  English  tailor's  label  on  his  clothing  and 
looking  sharply  into  the  ballroom,  "Whereas 
she  herself  was  clearly  meant  for  a  boy  and  was 
changed  at  the  last  moment.  She  looks  like  a 
boy  in  skirts,  a  damned  pretty  boy — and  a 
damned  haughty  one," 

"I  falter,"  said  the  Englishman  courteously, 
"at  an  attempt  to  think  of  a  boy  no  matter  how 


6  THE  SHRIEK 

damned  pretty  he  might  be,  looking  haughty  in 
skirts.  But  have  it  your  own  way,  old  dear. 
However,  please  remember  the  handicap  that 
Lady  Speedway  has  taken  on  me  and  don't  in 
terrupt  in  the  matter  of  these  Mayonnaises. 
Why,  I  was  brought  up  right  next  to  'em,  as  it 
were,  and " 

"An  odd  streak  in  the  family?" 

"Streak?    A  psychopathic  rainbow,  old  dear! 

"Her  father,  Sir  John  Mayonnaise  and  his 
wife  were  so  passionately  devoted  that  they  had 
two  children  born  nineteen  years  apart. 

"The  first  was  Lord  Tawdry.  You've  seen 
him?" 

"O,  quite." 

"There  was  discouragement  for  a  devoted 
couple  if  you  like! 

"Then  when  Verbeena  was  born  her  mother 
died  immediately. 

"Ten  seconds  later  Sir  John  grasped  a  big 
pistol  and  blew  his  brains  somewhere  or  other. 
Nobody  criticized  the  act  of  Sir  John  save  as  to 
the  size  of  the  pistol.  Least  of  all  he  who  is 
now  Lord  Tawdry." 


THE  SHRIEK  7 

"There  was  no  suicide  clause  in  Sir  John's 
insurance  policy,  I  take  it?" 

"What  a  sharp  devil  you  are!  Exactly.  And 
one  doesn't  blame  Tawd  really  for  what  fol 
lowed  regarding  Verbeena.  That  is  to  say,  he 
turned  down  about  fifty  female  advisers  and  de 
cided  to  bring  Verbeena  up  as  a  Johnny  instead 
of  a  Mildred.  Can  you  conceive?" 

"Not  easily." 

"It  was  less  trouble — it  wouldn't,  you  know, 
take  up  so  much  of  his  time.  He  needed  all  that 
for  training  up  on  bridge  and  American  poker 
in  order  to  conserve  the  old  patrimony  thing." 

"Brought  her  up  just  as  a  boy?" 

"Like  a  bally  nipper!  Quite.  Ridin',  wrest- 
lin',  boxin',  boatin',  fightin' — wherever  she 
might  be  duly  confident  of  victory — jumpin', 
runnin',  skatin',  skeein',  golfin',  gamblin' — 
er " 

"No  sex  at  all?" 

"Had  she  any  the  little  dear  must  have 
wrestled  with  it  long  ago  and  lost." 

"Ah,"  said  the  American,  "that  would  ac 
count  for  her  sang  Freud." 

"O,  indeed,  I  assure  you,  cold  as  a  fish." 


8  THE  SHRIEK 

"She  probably  feels  the  void?" 
"Sir?" 

"Figures  the  hot  sands  of  the  desert  may  warm 
her  up  a  bit." 

"Frapjous!  And  yet  you  see,  she  goes  alone! 
What  in  the  world  her  idea  is  I'm  sure  I — look 
— there's  young  Butternut  after  her  now!  A 
good  lad  but  not,  I  think,  quite  clear  above. 
Really  you  know  he  can't  be.  For  surely  must 
he  know  that  all  Verbeena  inherited  from  her 
father  was  the  pistol  Sir  John  shot  himself  with. 
Although,  of  course,  she  shares  with  her  brother, 
Tawdry,  the  same  damned  haughty  luck  at 
bridge.  These  two  things  and  a  sterling  upper- 
cut  is  all  she  owns  and  yet  he  would  marry 
her!" 

"You'd  think  he'd  have  a  Butternut,"  said  the 
American  shamelessly,  although,  after  due  ex 
planation,  the  Englishman  broke  into  hilarious 
laughter. 

"You  mean,  he  hadn't  best?  I  quite  agree 
with  you." 

They  stood  with  looks  of  mild  intelligence  on 
their  cosmopolitanly  caustic  countenances  at 


THE  SHRIEK  9 

Lord  Tawdry  and  his  sister,  Verbeena,  as  they  sat 
predominantly  on  the  platform  of  the  ballroom 
acting  as  host  and  hostess  with  tremendous  haute 
monde  de  flair. 

Lord  Tawdry  was  six  feet  two  in  height, 
though  seated,  and  half  a  foot  wide  and  he  wore 
an  eight-pound  black  mustache  to  show  that  re 
gardless  of  Verbeena's  curiously  trained  charac 
ter,  there  was  nothing  ambisextrous  about  him 
self. 

His  courtesy  was  so  inbred  that  he  kept  look 
ing  the  company  over  as  if  he  wished  they'd  all 
go  home  and  let  him  go  to  bed.  His  sleek  head 
would  drop  forward  sleepily  from  time  to  time 
but  always  bob  up  like  the  balloon  it  possibly 
perhaps  was  maybe. 

The  distinguished  nobleman  was,  moreover, 
an  awful  tramp  at  wearing  a  monocle.  It  was 
dropping  out  of  his  eye  every  few  minutes  keep 
ing  six  servants  busy  catching  it  and  putting  it 
back.  Frequently  they  took  a  mean  advantage 
and  slapped  it  back. 

Verbeena,  you  betcher,  was  different  from  her 
brother  despite  all  that  had  otherwise  been  done 


LORD  TAWDRY,  FROM  A  PORTRAIT  BY  HEVVINS  IN  THE  ANCESTRAL 
CASTLE  AT  MAYONNAISE-ON-LETTYS. 


THE  SHRIEK  11 

Jfor  and  to  her.  Anybody  could  see  she  was 
violently  alive,  that  she  had  verve  to  the  cres 
cendo  of  the  fluorescent. 

Strangely  enough,  she  was  smaller  than  her 
brother.  But  she  had  a  pair  of  shoulders  did 
Verbeena  and  her  ball  gown  revealed  the  ripple 
of  the  steel  muscles  on  her  young  arms. 

Straddling  her  chair  on  the  platform  she 
kicked  up  her  heels  in  her  boyish,  athletic  man 
ner  and  snapped  a  smoking  cigarette  into  the  air 
every  once  in  a  while,  catching  it  by  the  lighted 
end  in  her  firm,  proud,  scornful,  obstinate,  de 
termined,  appealing,  impulsive,  unsatisfied  sweet 
mouth. 

Twice  she  missed  and  set  fire  to  her  skirt, 
but  what  did  this  boyish,  lovely  creature  care 
about  a  skirt? 

Her  eyes  were  marvelous.  They  were  crossed 
between  a  sea  green  and  a  pond  blue  but  her 
black  eyebrows  were  obviously  alike  and  offered 
strange  contrast  to  the  loose,  red,  bobbed  curls 
she  wore,  clubbed  about  her  ears. 

In  the  course  of  training  her  Lord  Tawdry 
had  always  attended  to  the  style  in  which  she 
wore  her  hair. 


12  THE  SHRIEK 

In  the  company  at  the  Hotel  Biscuit  dance 
all  the  men  dropped  their  partners,  even  if  they 
weren't  their  wives,  and  trooped  toward  Ver- 
beena,  an  international  galaxy  of  adorers  com 
prising  Scotch,  Irish,  Spanish,  Scandinavians, 
Malays,  Canadians,  Moabites  and — well,  that 
will  be  about  enough — but  toward  all  of  them 
who  pleaded,  some  with  twanging  guitars,  others 
with  ukeleles  and  one  with  a  harmonica  for  a 
chance  to  clasp  her  boyish  beauty  in  the  ardor 
of  a  kicky  dance,  Miss  Mayonnaise  had  but  one 
insouciant,  petulant  reply: 

"Aw,  g'wan.    Fade!" 

Young  Butternut  stood  nearby  with  his  heart 
in  his  eyes.  He  was  nodding  joyfully  and  mur 
muring  softly  for  her  ear  alone: 

"'Attaboy!" 

"I  say,  chappie,  what  are  you  cooing  about?" 
finally  demanded  Miss  Mayonnaise. 

"Please,  old  thing,  a  word  alone  out  on  the 
balcony,"  Butternut  abjectly  amplified. 

"You've  a  jolly  cheek,"  retorted  Verbeena 
lighting  another  cigarette.  "And  yet?"  she  sud 
denly  arose  and  knocked  the  pleasing  young  man 
for  a  few  feet  with  a  merry  clap  on  the  ear. 


THE  SHRIEK  13 

"I'll  take  you  on.  I  like  you,  Butternut.  You 
remind  me  so  much  of  your  sister." 

She  pulled  out  a  guinea  and  started  matching 
him  as  they  passed  from  the  ballroom  and  out 
upon  the  balcony  under  the  ambent,  silver  light 
of  the  romantic  moon  which  was,  indeed,  shin 
ing. 

Two  minutes  later  and  from  the  direction  of 
this  same  window  out  of  which  they  had  passed 
— you  remember,  harmlessly  matching  guineas 
— sounded  a  wild,  prolonged  and  subtly  synco 
pated  ladylike  screech. 

A  hush  came  over  the  crowded  room.  Regular 
ladies  huddled  fearsomely  against  shaky-kneed, 
cosmopolitan  daredevils  while  craven  waiters 
went  out  to  see  what  the  trouble  was.  Somebody 
tore  the  hotel  doctor  away  from  his  absinthe  drip 
and  rushed  him  out  too. 

A  solemn  procession  returned. 

Frightened  faces  drew  apart  to  let  it  pass. 
Frightened  eyes  gazed  upon  a  white  stretcher 
borne  in  the  center  of  it.  On  it  was  the  prone, 
figure  of  a  person  whose  face  was  also  white. 

The  figure  recumbent  was  boyish. 

But  it  was  not  that  of  Verbeena  Mayonnaise. 


14  THE  SHRIEK 

The  white  face  showed  the  delicate,  feminine 
profile  of  Bertie  Butternut! 

In  the  frame  of  the  balcony  window  stood 
another  boyish  figure.  Sure  enough  this  was 
Verbeena  in  all  her  laddie-like  grace  and  poised 
with  a  seeming  boyish  indifference. 

But  it  could  be  seen  by  those  who  knew  her 
at  all  that  Miss  Mayonnaise  was  perturbed.  For 
at  one  grab  she  had  emptied  the  contents  of  her 
slim  gold  case  and  was  moodily  smoking  six 
cigarettes  at  once. 

Verbeena  returned  to  her  rooms  and  undressed 
herself. 

She  couldn't  keep  a  maid.  They  always  ended 
by  calling  her  "Sir." 

At  this  connecting  point  or  juncture,  there 
came  a  knock  on  the  door  and  Verbeena  called 
in  her  fresh,  young  baritone: 

"Who  the  dickens  is  this  and  what  do  you 
want  at  this  hour?" 

"A  note  for  you,  monsieur — pardon,  made 
moiselle." 

"O,  stick  it  under  the  door,"  she  replied. 


THE  SHRIEK  15 

But  when  she  had  looked  at  the  note  she 
gurgled: 

"Zingo!  But  this  will  put  Tawdry  in  a  bait! 
He  will  be  furious  at  me !  As  if  I  should  worry ! 
He  forgets  I'm  twenty-one  and  my  punch  is  get 
ting  better  every  day." 

She  nodded  stoutly. 

"Brother  Tawd  has  clubbed  my  curls  about 
my  ears  for  the  last  time.  And  I  had  no  heart 
for  this  scheme  of  his!  But  the  other  stunt — the 
desert,  freedom,  kicking  along  the  old  Sahara 
man  enough  for  any  emergency  and  my  own  lit 
tle  notion  of  what  may  come  of  it — those  things 
for  Verbeena!" 

She  looked  again  at  the  note  in  her  hand. 

"God  bless  Butternut,"  said  Verbeena  Mayon 
naise. 

She  ran  to  the  balcony,  leaned  far  over  and 
kicked  up  her  heels  and  burst  into  wild  and 
rippling  laughter  at  certain  thoughts  of  Tawdry 
and  of  Butternut  which  flooded  beneath  her 
carmine  cap  of  hair,  until  Lord  Tawdry  looking 
through  the  adjoining  lattice  said  sternly: 

"See  here,  young  fellow,  me  lad,  cut  that!" 


16  THE  SHRIEK 

"O,  cut  your  throat,  you  big  mooch,"  she  re 
plied  haughtily.  "I'm  an  icicle  myself  but  I 
know  a  grand  moon  when  I  see  one!" 

But  she  wasn't  looking  at  the  moon  at  all.  She 
was  leaning  out  as  far  as  she  could  and  peering 
on  the  balcony  below  where  she  thought  she  had 
seen  a  sign  of  white  drapery.  But  when  she 
looked  again  it  was  gone. 

Had  she  only  known! 

If  she  had  she'd  have  known  it  was  Lady 
Speedway  stretching  her  ear  to  try  and  find  out 
why  a  messenger  was  going  at  so  late  an  hour 
to  the  room  of  a  single  girl  like  Miss  Mayon 
naise. 

But  as  it  was,  Verbeena  squatted  on  the  bal 
cony  rail  lighting  cigarette  after  cigarette  as  she 
looked  out  into  the  market  place  where  the  moon 
and  her  nostrils  told  her  was  the  caravan  she 
had  engaged  from  Musty  Ale  for  her  wild,  mad 
adventure. 

If  Butternut  had  acted  differently — but  But 
ternut  hadn't! 

Dear  little  Butternut,  sweet  little  Butternut! 

She  had  his  note  to  prove  it  conclusively  to 


THE  SHRIEK  17 

Lord  Tawdry.  To-morrow  would  see  her  plung 
ing  forth  into  the  yellow  wilderness,  the  vast 
places,  the  majestic  silences,  the 

Verbeena  felt  a  sudden,  mad  boyish  tempta 
tion  to  shoot  her  cigarette  stump  into  the  eye  of  a 
native  sleeping  at  the  foot  of  the  verandah.  But, 
very  unusual  with  her  in  such  cases,  she  re 
frained.  It  might  start  some  trouble  and  she 
didn't  want  that  to  happen  now. 

Nothing  must  prevent  her  journey  upon  the 
desert! 

From  her  window  she  looked  out  toward  it, 
so  wonderful,  so  superb,  so  exquisite,  weird  and 
beautiful.  Exactly,  she  told  herself,  like  a  big, 
black  smudge. 

But  she  cuddled  in  bed  with  one  knee  up  to 
her  neck  in  cute  boyish  fashion,  laughing  softly 
at  the  remembrance  of  another  time  when  she 
had  popped  a  cigarette  stump  into  the  eye  of  a 
London  bobby  from  the  top  of  a  'bus. 

And  such  a  merry  fight  as  she  had  put  up 
when  he  had  yanked  her  down! 

She  was  wearing  her  usual  boy's  clothes  and 
when  she  had  given  her  real  name  at  the  station, 


18  THE  SHRIEK 

the  policeman  wouldn't  believe  it  of  her  and  the 
matron  had  resigned  rather  than  carry  the  in 
vestigation  further. 

Verbeena  gave  her  boyish  head  a  twist  or  two 
on  the  pillow  and  then  she  slept.  Two  weird 
sounds  were  in  her  ears  as  she  dropped  off.  One 
was  a  queer,  wild,  melancholy  song.  The  other 
was  the  snores  of  Lord  Tawdry,  equally  weird, 
equally  melancholy,  equally  wild. 

Yet  she  slept. 

But  an  hour  later  awoke. 

Verbeena  untied  her  long,  knotted  eyelashes 
and  peered  about. 

Had — she  seen  something? 

The  moon  was  all  there,  the  famous,  well- 
known  Biscuit  moon,  lighting  the  room  riotously. 

Yet  she  saw  nothing.  She  took  a  sharp  peek 
around.  As  her  state  of  consciousness  emerged 
from  the  nebulous  condition  of  soft  pitch  and 
congealed  to  the  concrete  of  a  highway,  Ver 
beena  said  softly  to  herself  : 

"I  could  kick  myself  for  a  goal  if  I  didn't 
see  somp'n.  Mystic  it  was,  white,  thrilling, 
strange " 

"Meow!" 


THE  SHRIEK  19 

Verbeena  rushed  for  the  balcony  but  the  cat 
took  the  rail  in  a  streak. 

"Bally  thing!" 

Again  on  the  still  white  night  she  heard  that 
weird  song  with  its  slurred  but  insistent  staccato 
expressione,  ancient  as  the  days  of  the  Pharaohs, 
the  melancholy,  passionate  Katsbemerri. 

But  there  would  be  no  cats  in  the  desert.  Only 
nice,  gentle,  cute  little,  wriggly  sandworms.  No 
big  boob  brother,  Tawdry.  No  Knitting  Needle 
Hussars. 

Out  there,  beyond,  swallowed  up  in  that  dear 
black  smudge  she  had  seen  from  the  balcony  her 
soul  would  wave  its  Stars  and  Stripes  of  free 
dom  and  move  grandly  in  the  palpitant  sunlight 
upon  the  yellow  linoleum  of  the  mighty  des 
ert! 

And  she  would  have  for  company  kickin', 
bitin'  horses  and  daredevil  men,  magnificent, 
virile,  strenuous  nomads  of  the  wild  silences  and 
the  silver  moons ! 

Only  under  no  circumstances  were  they — any 
one  of  them — to  be  allowed  to  go  too  far! 

Camaraderie — yes,  in  her  boyish  way  she 
would  offer  them  that.  But  beyond  that 


20  THE  SHRIEK 

"Remember,  Verbie,"  she  told  herself.  "As 
regards  such  bally  things  you  are  an  icicle — an 
icicle." 

She  shivered. 

"An  icicle!" 

She  drew  the  covers  swiftly  up  to  her  chin — 
up  to  the  loose,  red  curls  that  brother  Tawdry  so 
loved  to  club  about  her  ears. 


CHAPTER  II 

f  •  ^HE  promised  send-off  of  Verbeena  from 
the  Biscuit  Hotel  had  been  enthusi- 

-*-        astic. 

"Very  much  so,"  had  said  Lady  Speedway, 
the  mean  thing. 

At  dawn  Musty  Ale  sent  ahead  the  procession 
of  baggage  bearers,  the  lumbering  camels,  all  of 
them  Verbeena  thought  showing  great  facial  re 
semblance  to  Lady  Speedway  and  hoped  some 
day  to  tell  her  so. 

But  otherwise  she  just  adored  them. 

"See,"  said  she  to  Lord  Tawdry  who  had  sur 
prised  her  by  getting  up,  "the  darling  camels 
how  they  chew  and  chew  and  chew  and  are  never 
satisfied!" 

At  dawn  also  on  many  of  the  private  balconies 
of  the  Biscuit  Hotel  were  seen  veiled  faces. 
They  were  veiled  by  lattices  and  lace  cur 
tains — each  with  one  eye  out. 

It  was  the  espionage  of  the  Knitting  Needle 
Hussars. 

21 


22  THE  SHRIEK 

"There  she  goes,  the  bold  minx,"  murmured 
Mrs.  the  Honorable  General  the  Earl  Dumpy- 
dale. 

"She  means  to  do  it — to  cross  the  desert  alone! 
O,  shameless!"  openly  cried  the  Duchess  Pyll- 
boxe-Beauchamp. 

"She'd  better  keep  her  fingers  crossed  at  the 
same  time!" 

This  from  that  old  Lady  Speedway,  of  course. 

"Ah,"  murmured  in  the  next  balcony  the  Hon. 
Maude  Tetherington,  a  cute  spinster  of  sixty 
who  would  remember  you  in  her  will  if  you  told 
her  she  didn't  look  it,  "Ah!"  and  it  was  as  if 
she  were  murmuring  to  herself. 

"Once  I  dreamed  of  riding  in  the  desert  and  of 

a  great,  handsome  Arab  pursuing  me  and " 

it  was,  as  stated,  as  if  she  were  speaking  to  her 
self  but  you  bet  Lady  Speedway  got  it. 

"And  what?"  Lady  Speedway  demanded  with 
a  cold  look  in  her  eye. 

"There  was  no  offense  to  the  proprieties,"  said 
the  Hon.  Maude  with  trembling  accents. 
"I  assure  you  I  woke  up  in  time." 

The  Hon.  Maude  drew  her  head  within  and 
snapped  the  lattices  of  her  window  shut. 


THE  SHRIEK  28 

But  a  little  later  as  she  stood  at  her  mirror 
tacking  on  her  front  curls  she  paused,  hammer 
in  hand,  to  stare  back  in  the  direction  she  had 
last  seen  Lady  Speedway. 

"But  there  have  been  times  when  I  have 
greatly  wished  I  hadn't — so  there!" 

And  she  stuck  out  her  tongue,  nor',  nor'west 
due  east  toward  Speedway. 

Thus  amid  a  magnificent  display  of  good- 
wishes,  Verbeena  Mayonnaise  set  out  to  satisfy 
her  soul  longings  upon  the  somewhat  dusty 
Sahara,  under  the  capable  guidance  of  Musty 
Ale  and  his  equally  musty  camels  and  his  mus 
tard  colored  men. 

Lord  Tawdry  had  stood  in  his  balcony  shak 
ing  his  finger  at  Verbeena  and  declaring  if  she 
dared  set  out  he  would  be  down  directly  and 
cane  her  severely,  but  she  answered  pertly: 

"Rot,  old  chap!" 

As  Verbeena  rode  ahead  with  Musty  Ale, 
Lord  Tawdry  started  in  pursuit  on  a  camel 
which,  however,  refused  to  hump  itself  worthily, 
and  although  Lord  Tawdry  kept  crying  out 
to  Verbeena:  "O,  I  say  now — it  won't  do! 


24  THE  SHRIEK 

Do  you  hear  me?  Really  this  sort  of  thing  sim 
ply  isn't  done!"  it  was  not  until  Musty  Ale's 
caravan  arrived  at  Oasis  No.  i  that  Lord  Taw 
dry  was  able  to  catch  up. 

But  as  soon  as  he  had  fallen  .off  his  camel 
and  readjusted  his  monocle,  he  picked  up  a 
riding  whip  and  chased  Verbeena  up  a  palm 
tree. 

"You  sickening  ass!"  our  laddiebuck — I  mean 
heroine  called  to  him,  "you  just  drop  that  whip 
and  I'll  come  down  and  show  you  who's  who 
in  Sahara!" 

Action  wasn't  Lord  Tawdry's  strong  point 
anyway  except  with  a  good  deck  of  cards. 

"Verbeena,"  he  said,  "come  down  peacefully 
and  we'll  have  it  out  in  talk." 

"O,  you  Hergesheimer!"  smiled  she,  leaping 
to  the  ground,  lighting  a  cigarette  in  her  descent. 

"Now  look  here,  Tawdry,  what's  the  idea  of 
your  trailing  me  this  way?  My  mind's  made 
up.  You'll  have  simply  missed  a  whole  day  at 
bridge  and  you  know  you  can't  afford  it.  I'm 
going  to  put  in  a  month — a  full  month  on  the 
Sahara.  I've  the  sand  so  why  shouldn't  I?" 

Verbeena  drew  herself  up  and  shot  a  cigarette 


THE  SHRIEK  25 

snag  squarely  into  a  lizard's  eye.  Pardon — I 
forgot  to  mention  the  lizard  was  twisting  in  the 
brilliant  sunshine  on  a  nearby  opalescent  rock. 

"Kid,"  said  Lord  Tawdry,  not  unkindly,  "cut 
the  proud  boyish  beauty  stuff  for  half  a  shake, 
if  you  please.  One  must  get  down  to  brass  tacks 
once  in  a  while  and  just  now  the  situation  is  such 
that  I  feel  as  if  I  were  sitting  on  the  points  of 
a  million." 

"Talk  reasonably,"  said  Miss  Mayonnaise  al 
most  effeminately,  "and  I  will  do  what  little  I 
can  to  understand  you." 

"Well  then,  why  this  sudden  interruption  in 
our  plans?  The  idea  was  that  I  was  to  chuck 
myself  to  America  and  go  to  Newport  or  some 
other  nearby  spot  like  Los  Angeles  and  pluck 
for  myself  a  wife  somewhere  between  twenty  to 
forty  in  age  and  forty  to  sixty  in  millions  of 
American — er — buckoes — I  think  the  bounders 
call  'em." 

"And  I,"  nodded  Verbeena,  "was  to  go  along 
and  subtly  instruct  the  victim  that  it  wasn't 
necessary  in  good  society  to  perform  so  many 
fancy  tricks  as  Americans  do  with  their  forks 
and  that  in  acquiring  an  English  accent  one 


26  THE  SHRIEK 

didn't  say  fawncy  for  fancy.  And  I  was  to  tell 
her  how  sensitive  you  were  about  money — about 
ever  being  left  without  any." 

"Bright  chap,  you  are,  Verbeena!  It  was  a 
jolly  plan.  But  when  Butternut  and  his  five 
thousand  pun'  a  year  came  along  I  was  willing 
to  sacrifice  myself,  was  I  not? 

"I  was  willing,"  said  Lord  Tawdry,  "to  post 
pone  America  and  stick  to  bridge  until  you'd 
a  chance  to  snap  the  bally,  wedding  manacles 
on  the  pretty  youth.  And  everything  seemed 
moving  perfectly  until  late  last  night.  His  eyes 
were  then  shining  like  a  pair  of  motor  car  lamps 
with  love  for  you. 

"I  saw  him  beg  you  to  go  out  upon  the  balcony. 

"And  next  a  scream! 

"Butternut  is  carried  in  on  a  stretcher  and 
you  stroll  back  looking  like  an  incense  burner. 

"I  seek  to  see  Butternut.  I  cannot.  I  seek 
explanation  from  you " 

"If  only  you  hadn't  begun  with  that  usual  stuff 
of  clubbing  my  curls,  Tawdry! — I  just  made 
up  my  mind  to  let  you  remain  in  suspense  a 
while.  But  now  I'll  tell  all! 

"I  tried  to  play  fair,  Tawdry,  tried  to  play 


THE  SHRIEK  27 

fair,"  said  Verbeena  earnestly,  "like  the  square 
little  fellow  I  am." 

"Did  Butternut  ask  you  to  marry  him  out 
there  on  the  balcony  last  night?" 

"He  did." 

"Well  then?" 

"Tawdry,  old  chap,  I  overplayed  my  hand.  I 
threw  myself  into  his  arms  cooing  'Bertie,  dear 
est  Bertie'  in  as  ladylike  a  manner  as  my  bring 
ing  up  allows.  And  then  he  hugged  me.  And  to 
show  him  I  really  loved  him,  don't  you  know, 
I  hugged  him  back.  I  just  let  myself  go,  old 
dear!" 

"To  be  sure — quite  right — under  the  circum 
stances." 

"Stupid!  I  broke  three  of  his  ribs." 

"My  Gawd!" 

"Not  so  amazing  after  all,"  said  Verbeena 
with  a  glint  of  boyish  pride. 

"And  he— since— he ?" 

"At  three-thirty  one  and  a  half  by  my  wrist 
watch — the  only  piece  of  jewelry,  by  the  way, 
you've  left  me — I  received,  Lord  Tawdry,  this 
communication  from  the  hospital  cot  of  the 
Honorable  Bertram  Butternut!" 


THE  SHRIEK 


Out  of  the  hip  pocket  of  her  smart  riding 
breeches,  Verbeena  flashed  a  paper  on  her 
brother. 

As  he  read  it,  he  clutched 
wildly  at  his  long  black  mus 
taches  for  support. 


u  r 


THE    HONORABLE    BERTIE 
BUTTERNUT,  WHOSE  PAS 
SION  WAS  CRUSHED  WITH 
HIS  RIBS. 


ing  a  father  who 
shattered  pulp. 

"  'Mother  begs 
she  is  more  than 
turn,  desiring  me 


Dear  old  Verb/  the 
Hon.  Bertie  had  written,  'I 
think  you  will  be  too  much 
of  a  good  fellow  to  hold  me 
to  my  rash  words  of  last 
night. 

"  The  mater  and  I  talked 
it  over  at  my  bedside  while 
the  plastercasts  were  being 
fashioned. 

"Though  the  tears  blot 
this  letter  yet  through  their 
splashes,  I  cannot  but  see 
that  mamma's  advice  is  good. 
Better,  the  mater  says,  a 
broken  heart  than  a  succes 
sion  of  fractured  ribs! 

"  'And  myself  looking  into 

the  future  I  cannot  bear  to 

think  of  my  children  behold- 

is  nothing  but  a  cracked  and 

you  to  be  generous  and  says 

willing  to  be  generous  in  her 

to  say  she  will  be  most  glad 


THE  SHRIEK  29 

amply  to  finance  your  contemplated  trip  into  the 
desert.    And  even  beyond. 

"  'I  hope,  dear,  we  may  ever  remain  pals. 
After  all  it  will  be  nicer  when  we  meet — will 
it  not — just  to  shake  hands? 

" ' Brokenly, 

"  'BERTIE.' " 

"O,  but  I  say,  you  know,"  said  Lord  Tawdry, 
"this  could  be  patched  up." 

"Only  Bertie." 

"Rot.    You  could  hold  him." 

"Not  if  he  saw  me  coming.  The  boy  is  the 
best  sprinter  at  Oxford.  Anyway " 

Verbeena  regarded  her  brother  through  the 
sweeping  black  lashes  of  her  impenetrably  pal 
pable  orbs,  considering  carefully  that  the  ful- 
minations  between  them  had  reached  a  clan 
gorous  climax  of  the  neurotically  nepotic. 

This  was,  indeed,  the  sort  of  look  she  gave 
him  and  she  was  a  long  while  at  it. 

He  tried  to  stare  back  at  her  with  the  intoler- 
ability  of  the  inhumanly  inoculated.  But  he 
found  it  fundamentally  difficult  and  dropped  his 
eye-glass  fifty-four  times  in  the  course  of  the 
construction  of  this  cryptic  attitude. 

Verbeena  laughed.  She  would  put  the  skids 
under  him.  It  was  time— high  time.  Had  he 


30  THE  SHRIEK 

not  already  set  his  face,  such  as  it  was,  against 
the  aspirations  of  her  innermost  urge?  Hadn't 
he,  because  of  ignorance  of  the  illuminative  in 
terior  expansiveness  of  her  reason  for  desiring 
to  hit  forth  into  the  Sahara  sided  with  Old  Hen 
Speedway  and  that  whole  crew  of  clacking  char 
acter  assassins  and  killjoys? 

And  after  himself  training  her  to  be  a  rough 
neck  too? 

Now  he  would  seek  to  discourage  her  thrilling 
tour  de  hopoff  into  the  Sahara! 

Without  knowing  her  very  good  reason  for 
wanting  to  do  it! 

Pretending  concern  in  her,  had  he  not  really 
joined  the  camp  of  her  enemies  and  detractors, 
the  volte  face  thing! 

Of  course,  if  the  Ole  Walrus  knew!  If  she 
were  to  confide  the  ultimate  purpose  of  her  crys 
tal  soul  and  stalactitic  heart  to  him,  spill  the 
beans  of  what  was  on  her  mind — it  would  be 
different.  He'd  cling  to  her  very  stirrup  and 
hop  along  clamoring  for  his  piece  of  the  pickings. 

But  she  could  see  he  was  passe,  declasse,  a 
prune  pit  in  every  way. 

The  perfumed  gold  mines  of  Newport  and 
Palm  Beach  were  his  best  berry-picking  grounds. 


THE  SHRIEK  31 

To  take  him  with  her— impossible !  It  would 
not  only  confuse  the  issue  but  crab  the  act.  Ab 
solutely.  She  knew  that  in  the  romantic  but  in 
conclusion  pre-eminently  profitable  rumble  she 
had  in  mind,  Lord  Tawdry  could  only  prove  a 
hang-nail,  that  is  to  say  a  detriment  to  the 
scheme. 

She  saw  him  readjust  his  monocle  twelve  times 
and  yawn  six  and  knew  he  was  going  to  say  some 
thing.  Not  much — he  never  did.  But 

"Blast  it,  Verbeena,  you  little  rotter,  what  the 
deuce  I  say,  you  know,  is  all  this  bally,  blooming 
sand-eatin'  desert  journey  about  anyway?  I  say, 
my  dear  chappie,  what  is  the  idea?" 

"None  of  your  damned  biznai,  old  thing.  And 
there  you  have  it." 

"But  I  should  really  so  like  to  know." 

"Tosh!" 

"But  all  the  Mollie  Jawags  back  at  the  Biscuit 
will  jazz  me  awf  ly  about  permitting  you  to  tack 

off  alone  this  way  with "  Lord  Tawdry 

waved  his  hand  toward  Musty  Ale  and  his 
turbaned  crew. 

"As  if  it  would  really  worry  you,"  said  Miss 
Mayonnaise  with  a  very  unboyish  giggle. 

"It  doesn't,  I  confess,  since  Bertie  Butternut's 


32  THE  SHRIEK 

mother  is  financing  you.  And  yet — no,  I  can't 
allow  it.  I  couldn't  face  it.  I  couldn't  lift  me 
head  if  anything — er — anything,  let  us  say, 
Oriental  happened." 

"Well,  you  are  seldom  able  to  lift  your  head 
after  ten  in  the  morning  anyway,"  said  Verbeena. 
"Let  us  waste  no  more  time,  my  beloved  brother. 
Get  into  mental  condition  with  yourself  quickly 
and  know  that  for  the  next  month  a  kid  of  the 
desert  am  I.  Ain't  I  twenty-one  now?  Got  a 
vote  that's  just  as  good  as  yours  at  'ome,  and  a 
punch  that  I  think  is  better. 

"Nothing  stops  me — Tawd,  nothing,  old  top. 
So  take  a  spin  for  yourself  back  to  the  Biscuit. 
And  whatever  thinking  you  do  you  can  start  all 
over  again  from  there." 

Verbeena  paused,  astonished  at  herself. 

She  hadn't  lighted  a  cigarette  for  forty 
seconds! 

She  got  one  going  immediately  and  as  she 
puffed  voraciously  at  her  fag  watched  with  keen 
pleasure  the  furrows  gather  on  her  brother's 
small  patch  of  sun-kissed  brow. 

Within  two  minutes,  quite  suddenly  for  him, 
Lord  Tawdry  drew  a  revolver. 

"Not  to — to  hint  nothin',  Verbie,"  he  said 


THE  SHRIEK  33 

"but  you  are  to  come  back  to  the  hotel  with  me 
directly.  Directly,  do  you  hear?" 

He  looked  at  her  impressively  and  shot  at  a 
camel.  He  hit  a  palm  tree. 

"I  say  you  know!"  he  said  and  stared  at  his 
weapon  stupidly.  "I  never " 

He  shot  again.  This  time  at  the  palm  tree. 
But  the  camel  neatly  ducked. 

Verbeena  smiled  and  started  another  cigar 
ette.  She  went  over  to  the  camel,  rubbed  its 
clever  nose,  brought  out  her  gold-lined  case  and 
fed  the  camel  a  ciggy  too. 

Then  she  turned  toward  her  brother — turned 
with  boyish  abandon  and  hauteur,  of  course — 
and  spoke.  Speaking  she  said : 

"That  will  be  about  all  from  you,  Tawd. 
Pack  your  gat." 

Montrose,  her  brother's  valet,  an  unexpect 
edly,  entirely  unusual  perfect  servant,  came 
along  the  Sahara  bearing  two  plates  of  soup. 
It  was  the  appointed  dining  hour  for  Lord  Taw 
dry.  Regardless  of  what  he  might  do  as  to  debts, 
he  insisted  on  prompt  feeding. 

"Drop  that  soup,"  said  Verbeena  sternly. 
"Your  master  isn't  staying  to  dinner  and  the 
soup  will  not  stain  the  sand. 


84  THE  SHRIEK 

"Instead,  Montrose,"  continued  Verbeena, 
"get  out  the  fine  comb,  for  this  day  finds  your 
master  with  more  sand  than  soup  in  his  hanging 
gardens. 

"Afterwards  tie  his  shoes  and  put  on  his  sun- 
bonnet  for  Lord  Tawdry  is  going  day-day." 

"Yes,  miss,  thank  you,  miss." 

"Back  to  the  Biscuit,  you  understand,  Mon 
trose." 

"Yes,  miss;  thank  God,  miss." 

"Verbeena!" 

Again  Lord  Tawdry  clutched  his  pistol. 

"Aw-blooey,"  said  Verbeena.  "As  long  as  you 
aim  it  at  men  I  don't  in  the  least  mind.  To  horse, 
Lord  Tawdry!  This  is  my  camp  and  you  just 
keep  out  of  it,  do  you  hear?" 

As  her  brother  rode  dejectedly  away,  his  long, 
black  mustaches  of  Spanish  moss  effect  mingling 
with  the  turf  on  his  charger's  ginger-colored 
hump,  Verbeena  lit  a  bunch  of  cigarettes  in  his 
honor  and  let  go  a  devilish  wink  at  Musty  Ale. 

Musty's  palms  went  up  toward  the  heavens. 

"O,  Allah,  witness,"  he  chanted,  his  chin  also 
pointing  at  the  azure  African  sky,  "be  she,  he 
or  it— SOME  kid!" 


CHAPTER  III 

WHEN  the  last  floating  ends  of  Lord 
Tawdry's    face-banners   had   disap 
peared  over  the  horizon,  Musty  Ale 
made  bold  to  appear  before  Verbeena,  who  with 
eyes  crossed  was  dipping  deeply  into  a  highball 
of  Scotch  which  tended  to  denature  the  Sahara. 

"Mademoiselle,  it  is  time  that  we  left,  by 
Allah,"  he  said. 

"It  isn't  by  my  watch,"  she  replied,  frowning. 
"Also,  Musty,  I  am  no  longer  to  be  called 
mademoiselle.  After  this  mention  me  as 
Queen." 

"Sultana?" 

"I  don't  like  that  fruit-cracker  word  either, 
my  good  man.  Queen!  And  don't  forget  it. 
And  don't  look  cross  at  me  in  your  mysterious 
Oriental  way.  You  might  as  well  get  used  to  * 
it.  Perhaps  I'm  not  a  queen  yet  but,"  as  she 
filled  her  three  slim  gold  cigarette  cases,  "I  soon 
will  be.  Queen.  Understand?" 

35 


86  THE  SHRIEK 

"%—&&&&&*%  *(*)#**»*# 
muttered  Musty  in  his  native  tongue.  (A 
darned  barefaced  queen  in  britches!  May  the 
Prophet  part  me  from  my  whiskers!) 

"What,  sirrah?" 

"Allah  witness,  I  said  nothing." 

"Keep  right  on  doing  that,"  said  Verbeena. 

Her  words  came  in  a  tone  of  authority  which 
added  to  the  fact  that  she  accurately  snapped 
a  live  fag  end  at  his  right  eye,  caused  Musty 
to  sink  through  his  jelab  or  Sahara  overcoat. 

But  after  he  had  dug  himself  a  shell  hole  in 
the  desert,  he  said  from  deeply  beneath  his  head 
wrappings : 

"O,  Queen,  if  we  don't  start  soon  we  are  sure 
to  miss  perhaps  some  of  the  most  select  outgo 
ing  caravans.  By  the  fringe  of  the  Prophet — 
but  we  surely  will!" 

"The  noise  you  are  now  making  is  entirely  dif 
ferent,"  commented  Verbeena. 

She  arose  and  clicked  her  fingers  over  her  left 
shoulder,  a  trick  she  had  learned  from  a  French 
officer  from  Alabama  while  trilling  the  cubes. 
"Let's  go!" 


THE  SHRIEK  87 

At  last  she  was  out  on  the  desert  on  her  very 
own!  Out  on  the  desert  with  her  wild  heart, 
her  strangely  stirring  impulses,  her  uncharted 
passions,  the  mad  caprices  of  her  swift 
reactions  from  pants  to  skirts,  from  skirts  to 
pants,  though  nothing  like  vice-versa  had  even 
touched  her. 

Free— free— FREE! 

Of  everything  but  Musty  Ale,  sixty-two 
mounted  Sahara  Siwashes  at  9  centimes  a  day, 
eight  exquisitely  fragrant  camels,  the  bright, 
tangible  odor  of  garlic  from  the  broiling  meats 
of  the  camp  fire  and  her  faithful  aura  of  mauve 
fag  smoke  wreathing  her  pruned,  red  locks,  an 
aura  that  was  kept  going  by  the  plumes  which 
ever  shot  from  the  wide  flanges  of  her  flaming 
nostrils  in  symbolism  of  the  fire  seething  be 
neath  the  icicles  draping  her  ruby  heart. 

As  a  boy  she  was  interesting. 

But  as  a  girl — Time  would  tell,  for  Time  is 
no  gentleman. 

She  thought  of  her  purity  and  dug  the  spurs 
viciously  into  her  indignant  horse. 

She  remembered  Bertie  Butternut  without  a 
qualm.  When  his  arms  had  been  about  her  it 


88  THE  SHRIEK 

had  stirred  no  instinct  in  her  but  that  to  fight 
back.  She  perfectly  understood  that  as  to  love 
and  its  languors,  its  high  spots,  its  dumps,  she 
was  a  mere  unbaked  bun. 

She  realized  that  she  knew  nothing  of  the 
other  sex  beyond  the  men's  underclothing  adver 
tisements. 

And  they  had  never  impressed  her. 

She  had  better  muscles  herself  than  any  the 
artists  seemed  able  to  draw. 

Indeed,  were  these  the  pictures  of  men? 

She  remembered  the  sums  she  had  received 
from  time  to  time  to  pose  for  posters  of  young 
gentlemen  wearing  new  style  collars. 

"Pooey!"  exclaimed  Verbeena.  And  lit  her 
i8,462nd  pill  or  cigarette. 

But  these  Arabs!  Ah,  there  was  something  to 
them!  She  felt  that  they  had  something  more 
than  bridge-whist,  golf  and  billiards  under  their 
turbans,  something  more  than  mere  hop- 
Scotches  of  the  heart. 

They  smoked  as  many  cigarettes  as  herself — 
nearly. 

They  glowered  like  devils  and  jammed  their 


THE  SHRIEK  39 

horses  around  and  kicked  the  camels  about  with 
a  refreshing  brutality. 

They  scratched  themselves  so  fearlessly! 

They  breathed  garlic  gloriously! 

And  they  sang — always.  And  always  the 
same  tune  to  the  simp-simp-simp  of  their  two 
string  ukeleles  with  the  palm  twig  picks.  It  was 
beautiful  to  Verbeena  that  same,  same  tune, 
grateful  to  her  ear  that  liquid,  languorous  simp- 
simp-simp,  an  ear  as  exquisitely  tone  deaf  as 
that  of  any  good,  up-to-date  composer. 

Then  suddenly  black  specks  danced  before 
her  eyes! 

Was  it  liver? 

No! 

By  Jove,  it  was  a  caravan  on  the  horizon  of 
the  jolly  old  Sahara! 

As  it  finally  came  right  up  close  the  vim  of 
Verbeena's  interest  grew  somewhat  vitiated. 
There  were  twenty  camels  and  a  big  bunch  of 
horsemen,  and  proximity  proved  that  they  were 
bathed  in  sunlight  alone.  Several  of  the  camels 
halted  and  knelt  and  a  dozen  figures  jounced 
down  from  the  palanquins  whose  curtains  hadn't 


40  THE  SHRIEK 

been  changed  that  Spring.     The  figures  she 
knew  to  be  those  of  Sahara  ladies. 

"How  about  this  outfit,  Queen?"  asked  Musty 
Ale. 

"Nope — don't  care  about  'em." 
"Good  as  any  other,  your  majesty." 
"That's  what  I  get  for  paying  you  a  flat  rate 
for  this  job!"  cried  Verbeena  fiercely,  trucu 
lently.  "You  want  to  have  it  over  as  quickly  as 
possible.  Why,  that  caravan  is  going  straight 
back  to  Biscuit!  You  know  very  well  that  it's 
a  month  for  me  in  the  desert  or  nothing.  I  went 
all  over  it  with  you  about  six  thousand  times. 
Nothing  under  a  month  will  do  and  it  will  not 
be  until  we  have  traveled  six  days  deep  on  this 
old  sandcarpet,  Musty,  you  brass-faced  blurb, 
before  I'll  begin  looking  about  for  more  perma 
nent  arrangements.  What  a  ninny  I  was  to  have 
paid  you  two  dollars  in  advance!" 

O'er  the  swart  features  of  the  under  Shereef 
shot  a  spasm  of  anger.  But  he  dodged  a 
cigarette  butt  with  fine  skill  and  masked  his  feel 
ings  under  glinting  eyes. 

"Give  my  compliments  to  that  grimy-looking 


THE  SHRIEK 


41 


MUSTY  ALE,  A  LOW,   UNSCRUPULOUS  FELLOW. 


42  THE  SHRIEK 

outfit,"  said  Verbeena  tartly,  "and  let's  step 
along." 

"  #$%&)  )$""&&&%***'!!!!"  (Chesty 
Redhead!)  murmured  Musty  Ale  when  he  was 
well  out  of  range. 

Suddenly  a  white  figure,  big  as  a  circus  tent 
and  looking  the  same,  detached  itself  from  the 
other  roughriders,  whirled  up  to  Musty  and  the 
black  whiskers  of  this  new  demon  parted 
widely  showing  a  very  superior  set  of  sharply 
pointed  white  fangs. 

"Hollerwoller,  hippolo,  jazzamarabi  zop 
zing!" 

"I  wouldn't  care  if  you  did,"  replied  Musty 
promptly.  "How  much?" 

"Eighty-six  beans!"  said  the  big  feller.  And 
before  the  other's  eyes  he  bobbed  a  large  goat 
skin  purse  which  jingled. 

"Marks  or  francs?" 

"O,  my  well-known  Allah!  Better'n  'nat! 
American  pennies!  How's  that  hippolohit 
yer?" 

"Gimme  that  bag!    She's  yours." 

Musty  Ale  shoved  the  coin  of  treachery  next 
to  a  half  loaf  of  bread  under  his  sandy  jelab. 


THE  SHRIEK  43 

As  the  other  wheeled  his  magnificent  charger 
to  spur  it  to  a  violent  gallop,  Musty  suddenly 
called: 

"Hupl"    (Halt!) 

"What?" 

"She  likes  to  be  called  'Queen.' " 

"And  who  is  she  that  I — but  thanks  for  the 
tip.  Allah  keep  the  fleas  off  you,  me  lad." 

"Thanks  yourself,"  answered  Musty,  "al 
though  he  never  has  yet" 

But  the  white  circus  tent  on  the  plunging 
black  beastie  was  already  far  away. 


CHAPTER  IV 

VERBEENA  had  thought  when  Musty 
Ale  held  back  to  have  a  talk  with  the 
large  gentleman  in  the  white  wrappings 
her  sulky  retainer  was  doubtless  obeying  her  or 
der  to  tell  the  person  who  seemed  to  be  the 
Admiral  Beattie  of  the  desert  ships,  that  in  the 
matter  of  her  joining  his  particular  caravan 
there  would  be  nothing  the  whatsoever  doing. 

She  was  very  much  annoyed  therefore  to  dis 
cover  that  this  man  in  the  prominently  large 
turban  had  evidently  refused  to  take  Musty's 
word  for  it  and  meant  to  talk  the  matter  over 
with  her  in  person.  It  would  seem  so.  His 
black  horse — Verbie  could  see  it  was  no  dog — 
was  doing  about  1,59/^2  in  her  direction. 

There  might  be  a  whole  lot  that  Verbeena  did 
not  know  about  the  other  sex. 

But  she  was  fully  cognizant  what  Arabic 
bargaining  meant.  Starting  to  dicker  at  one  in 

44 


THE  SHRIEK  45 

the  afternoon  of  a  perfect  day  in  June  one  con 
tinued  to  the  following  Shrove  Tuesday. 

They  always  had  as  much  to  say  about  a  shil 
ling  purchase  as  Joseph  Conrad  did  about  Lord 
Jim. 

We  who  have  witnessed  the  scene  of  tragic 
treachery  against  her  on  the  part  of  Musty  Ale 
in  conspiracy  with  the  hard  rider  now  abaft  the 
oasis  in  the  rapidly  diminishing  offing,  must 
tremble  now  for  Verbeena  Mayonnaise.  Al 
though  even  we  cannot  as  yet  suspect  the  half 
of  what  is  coming  to  her. 

And  of  all  persons  Verbeena! 

So  unprepared,  untrained  and  sure  to  be  boy 
ishly  baffled  at  finding  herself  the  object  and 
victim  of  a  large  consignment  of  fiery,  wild, 
untamed,  hectic  and  rrrrrrred-hot  desert  pas 
sion  now  being  swiftly  shipped  to  her  on  horse 
back. 

The  sun  was  beating  relentlessly  on  the  roof 
of  Verbeena's  white  helmet  and  she  did  not  pro 
pose  to  wait  and  let  this  big  goof  attempt  to  sell 
her  any  fake  rugs,  bangles,  beads  or  poor  cara 
van  accommodations. 

She  gave  the  spurs,  therefore,  right  heartily 


46  THE  SHRIEK 

to  her  beloved  steed  and  he  proceeded  to  cut 
down  a  large  section  of  the  Sahara  ahead. 

Let  Musty  and  his  gang  follow.  Unquestion 
ably  this  person  on  his  way  toward  her  would 
have  sufficient  Oriental  subtlety  to  take  the  hint. 
He  would  doubtless  rein  up  his  horse  and  save 
oats. 

But — there  was  a  loud  crack  of  a  whip  behind 
her. 

Verbeena  was  very  much  astonished  when  her 
noble  Berb,  Al  Dobbin,  stopped  nearly  dead  in 
his  tracks,  stood  up  on  his  hind  legs  and  did 
some  waltz  steps. 

During  the  whirl  she  noticed  that  the  big 
white  chap  was  still  coming  toward  her. 

She  gave  Al  Dobbin  the  spurs  again  and  once 
more  he  moved  into  a  fast  gallop  over  the  dunes. 

Again  the  whip  cracked  behind  her!  And 
again!  (Two  cracks.) 

Al  Dobbin  stood  on  his  hind  legs  neatly  and 
pawed  gracefully. 

Plainly  he  was  bidding  for  a  lump  of  sugar. 

And  all  she  could  possibly  have  offered  him 
was  a  cigarette! 

Once  more  Verbeena  spurred  him  to  a  start. 


THE  SHRIEK  47 

"A  blooming  circus  creature,"  she  gasped, 
"and  in  pursuit  must  be  his  trainer.  And  where 
the  deuce  is  Musty?  He  must  have  stolen  this 
fancy  ballet  horse  from  the  husky  white  ulster 
now  so  rapidly  approaching!  The  rotter!  I 
suspected  Musty  from  the  first  but  didn't  care 
to  mention  it  to  Tawdry.  Wisht  I  had!  Still, 
when  one  adventures,  why 

Crack!    Crack!    Crack!    (Three  cracks.) 

Immediately  Al  Dobbin  knelt  to  pray. 

Verbeena,  not  knowing  the  signals,  smacked 
her  helmet  hard  against  the  desert  of  Sahara, 
matted  her  curls  and  stretched  motionless,  a 
lighted  cigarette  in  her  hand. 

One  could  read  a  symbol  in  its  curling  smoke 
of  the  fiery  spirit  yet  existent  in  the  lithe,  young, 
prone,  boyish  body  as  well  as  the  indubitable 
indication  of  an  unbreakable  habit. 

But  there  was  so  little  time  for  reading  any 
thing,  although  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  light 
was  excellent  for  even  an  Edison  cannot  vie  with 
that  real  thing  which  you  get  on  the  Sahara. 

But  to  get  back  to  Verbeena.  And  high  time 
too! 

For  the  big,  brown  devil  had  her!    Right  in 


48  THE  SHRIEK 

his  arms.  Across  his  horse!  And  wrapped  up 
in  his  great,  long  white  cloak.  Not  any  too 
white  either. 

She — already  she  was  beginning  to  feel  she 
was  she — Verbeena  Mayonnaise,  was  caught, 
trapped,  trussed  up  in  the  folds  of  that  white 
cloak  of  his,  utterly  helpless  and  like  a  week's 
wash ! 

It  was  horrible,  awful,  terrible  and  very  un 
comfortable. 

Moreover,  the  humiliation  of  it  was  meticu 
lously  genuine. 

And  what  could  she  do?  Jiu  jitsu  she  had  but 
it  wasn't  worth  a  jitney  to  a  person  in  a  cocoon! 
By  the  same  token  all  her  gymnasium  and  other 
athletic  perfections  which  had  trained  her  fit 
to  give  Georges  Carpentier  or  Jacques  Dempsey 
a  stiff  battle  now  went  blah. 

Additionally,  this  big  heap  Arab  chief  that 
had  snared  her  she  knew — thrillingly  knew — 
was  hefty. 

He  was  managing  his  fiery  steed  one-handed, 
beautifully,  better  than  any  stableyard  virtuoso 
she  had  ever  known  at  'ome. 


THE  SHRIEK  49 

His  other  arm  about  her  was  like  a  hoop  of 
steel. 

Or  a  lobster's  claw. 

She  felt  pinched.  And,  in  truth,  she  was. 
She  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Shereef. 

She  tried  to  scream.  But  when  she  did  so  she 
only  succeeded  in  eating  a  section  of  his  flowing 
white  robe. 

She  tried  to  think.  But  she  might  as  well 
have  been  her  brother,  Tawdry. 

She  tried  to  smoke.  And  that  was  worst  of 
all.  Her  arms  were  so  encumbered  she  couldn't 
get  at  any  of  her  cigarette  cases. 

Not  that  she  was  left  entirely  without  tobacco. 
The  Sahara  lady-snatcher's  garments  rang  with 
the  odor  of  it. 

To  add  to  her  agony,  her  snippy  little  nose 
smarted  keenly  and  she  knew  it  must  be  red  as 
a  beet  from  sunburn.  And  she  was  helpless  td 
get  out  her  powder  puff. 

Despite  her  manly  training,  the  powder-puff 
habit  was  one  which  she  had  always  prac 
ticed  in  common  with  all  the  other  Cambridge 
girls  and  fellows. 


50  THE  SHRIEK 

Cumulatively  upon  these  conditions  of  de 
spair,  she  began  to  wonder  what  the  deuce  this 
bally  coot  meant  to  do  with  her! 

One  thing  certain  was  that  he  was  seriously, 
perhaps  permanently  upsetting  her  scheme,  her 
plan,  her  idea  for  junketing  forth  by  her  lonely 
into  the  desert.  Such  a  perfectly  good  plan! 
One  that  would  forever  end  her  being  de 
pendent  on  Lord  Tawdry's  luck  at  bridge  and 
forever  relieve  her  of  the  necessity  of  getting 
Americans  at  the  foreign  hotels  to  stake  her  at 
games  of  stud  poker. 

Ah — it  had  been  no  idle  journey — no  mere 
whimsy!  It  had  been  designed  to  bring  her 
wealth,  fame,  and  a  glory  the  most  transcendent 
of  her  times. 

The  marriage  of  Mary  Pickford  and  Douglas 
Fairbanks  had  suggested  it. 

For  had  she  not  the  pulchritude  of  Mary? 

And  girlishness  could  be  acquired. 

And  had  she  not  the  athletic  prowess  to  cut 
the  didoes  of  Doug? 

Thus  she  could  go  into  the  movies — if  she 
could  get  in — like  a  sort  of  one-person  band. 

She  could  double  in  sex. 


THE  SHRIEK  51 

Perhaps  draw  two  salaries  of  $1,500,000  a 
week  each !  One  lady  and  one  gentleman  salary. 

How  to  get  in?  That  was  the  question  Ver- 
beena  had  demanded  of  herself  to  answer.  And 
answer  it  she  had. 

She  would  disappear  into  the  desert.  She 
would  pick  up  with  some  nice  caravan  at  a  fair 
rate  for  board  and  mileage  and  stick  along  with 
it  indefinitely. 

She  had  been  careful  to  announce  all  around 
the  Biscuit  that  she  would  be  gone  exactly  one 
month. 

When  the  month  was  up  and  no  Verbeena  she 
could  depend  on  the  Knitting  Needle  Dearies 
to  start  their  jaws  awagging  concerning  her  and 
run  away  and  leave  them. 

The  foreign  correspondents  would  soon  get 
going  on  the  cable  regarding  the  missing  young, 
daring,  delightful,  ingenuous,  adventurous, 
amazing,  remarkable,  willful,  bewitching 
bobbed  haired  beauty  of  Mayfair  who  had 
recklessly  essayed  to  navigate  the  Sahara  with 
out  a  male  rudder  of  her  own,  to  journey  far 
and  alone  save  for  an  escort  of  wicked  and  low 
ering  Arabs ! 


52  THE  SHRIEK 

As  the  days  passed  and  the  mystery  deepened 
how  the  columns  and  columns  would  accumu 
late  in  the  dailies  and  weeklies  and  on  the  timely 
topics  movie  films !  The  American  papers  par 
ticularly  would  rave. 

Lord  Northcliffe  would  begin  by  offering  a 
good  camera  to  any  person  finding  trace  of  her 
and  end  by  setting  up  a  reward  of  1,000,000  pun. 
No  question  of  it.  Hearst  would  offer  the  pick 
of  his  newspapers  to  any  reporter  who  could 
rescue  her. 

But  if  any  reporters  got  around  her  caravan 
it  would  be  so  easy  to  disguise  herself.  She 
would  not  even  have  to  take  off  her  ridin' 
britches.  Just  slip  a  lady  jelab  around  her  and 
bring  one  end  of  it  up  over  her  nose  and  get 
by. 

Or  if  the  hue  and  cry  got  the  French  Govern 
ment  so  all-fired  distrait  that  they  ordered  a 
ruthless  search  of  the  caravan  harems,  she  had 
only  to  show  up  in  her  usual  ridin'  pants,  paste 
a  little  blackberry  jam  on  her  lip  and  chin  for 
a  glossy  black  Oriental  beard  and  fool  'em  all. 

Perhaps  it  would  be  wise  to  mix  camel  hair 
with  the  jam. 


THE  SHRIEK  53 

But  that  would  be  a  matter  to  be  decided  upon 
when  the  emergency  arose. 

Of  course,  there  might  be  no  jam  in  the 
caravan  commissary.  But  surely  there  would 
never  be  a  lack  of  gum  Arabic. 

And  when  she,  Verbeena,  had  thus  vaulted 
into  the  top  skies  of  notoriety,  she  would  com 
municate  secretly  with  the  largest  of  the  movie 
concerns. 

What  would  they  bid  to  star  the  "mystery 
girl  of  the  Sahara"  in  a  magnitudinous  thriller 
with  her  own  company  of  devil-riding,  thrilling, 
stirring,  fierce,  wild,  startling,  arousing  Arabs? 

She  saw  herself  getting  a  flood  of  checks  from 
these  sources  blank  of  everything  but  signa 
tures. 

Or  a  procession  of  2000  camels  laden  with  the 
gold  of  the  Americas  if  she  preferred  to  do  busi 
ness  that  way. 

"Just  name  your  price,  girlie,"  would  inevi 
tably  be  the  message. 

And  here  was  this  Arab  rotter  grabbing  her 
around  the  girdle  and  taking  her  somewhere 
west  of  Suez! 

And  what  for? 


54  THE  SHRIEK 

What  was  the  idea? 

Not  till  then  did  it  occur  to  Verbeena  that  it 
might  be  because  she  was  a  woman.  Naturally, 
this  notion  filled  her  with  astonishment  and  dis 
gust.  And  rage,  touched  most  lightly  with  the 
erotic. 

She  got  madder  and  madder! 

Indeed,  Verbeena  became  virtuously  vibrant 
with  a  revolt  virginally  volcanic.  Her  eyes 
shone  virescent  with  hatred  and  the  tiny  blue 
veins  on  her  white  forehead  under  the  tawny 
clubbed  curls  became  varicose. 

Besides,  she  was  getting  kind  of  scared. 

There  was  a  nifty  strangle  hold  she  knew 
which,  could  she  ever  get  free  of  that  tail  end  of 
his  Arabian  wrapper,  she  would  love  to  try  out 
on  this  rough  bird.  Her  fingers,  her  small,  lithe, 
delicate,  steel-like  fingers,  tingled  at  the  thought. 

Even  if  her  nose  was  red,  she  determined  to 
try  and  poke  it  out  into  the  air.  She  would 
gather  new  strength  and  see  what  the  chances 
were  for  coming  out  further.  Cautiously  she 
screwed  her  bobbed  head  about  and  finally,  poor 
little  snail,  managed  to  thrust  her  face  forward 
and  out  of  the  folds  that  were  stifling  her.  She 


THE  SHRIEK  55 

opened  her  mouth  wide.  She  took  in  great  gulps 
of  air. 

Ah,  it  was  good ! 

But  next  she  took  in  several  deep  gulps  of 
sand  as  it  arose  from  the  flying  hoofs  of  her 
captor's  single  footer. 

Ah,  not  so  good ! 

She  became  aware  of  a  big,  glaring  face  above 
her.  How  terribly  it  frowned ! 

"Duckmong,  Kid,  duckmong!"  her  captor  said 
sternly  and  pushed  her  head  back  as  though  she 
was  an  India  rubber  doll. 

Such  was  the  awful  strength  of  the  man! 

And  then  he  squeezed  her  to  him  till  she 
feared  that  Bertie  Butternut's  fate  would  be  her 
own.  She  felt  crushed  to  the  consistency  of 
malted  milk. 

Who  could  he  be,  this  demon?  Certainly 
nothing  less  than  the  local  Zabysko  of  Biscuit 
And  it  was  marvelous  the  way  he  managed  at  the 
same  time  his  great,  big  horse  and  herself  as  if 
she  were  the  smallest  pony  of  a  ballet. 

She  didn't  faint.  You'd  never  catch  Verbeena 
Mayonnaise  doing  that.  But  really  she  felt  an 
awful  lot  like  it! 


56  THE  SHRIEK 

He  changed  her  position  again.  This  time  he 
hung  her  head  down. 

She  looked  up  into  his  eyes.  (There  was  no 
help  for  it.)  The  monster  laughed  at  her — 
laughed ! 

He  was  now,  she  saw,  not  only  driving  the 
horse  with  one  hand  and  holding  her  upside 
down  with  the  other,  but  had  inserted  a  cigarette 
into  an  eighteen-inch  amber  holder  clinched  in 
his  teeth. 

And  then,  just  to  show  her  his  class,  he  bent 
low  until  the  end  of  his  cigarette  touched  the 
tip  of  her  fiery  little  sunburned  nose,  lighted  the 
cigarette  and  all  over  again  he  laughed  at  her. 

"You ,  !"  she  cried  to  him  with  a 

rush  of  words  Brother  Tawdry  himself,  could 
not  have  excelled. 

"By  Allah!"  he  smiled  back  at  her,  "what  a 
game  little  diwle !" 

Not  being  able  to  get  a  look  at  her  wrist 
watch,  Verbeena  then  lost  all  sense  of  time.  She 
knew  only  that  the  sun  was  still  up  and  burning 
her  nose  ingloriously.  But  she  would  resist  to 
the  last  pulsation  of  her  strong,  young  heart  this 
desert  creature  of  the  strangely,  burning  passion- 


THE  SHRIEK  57 

ate  orbs.  They  were  rather  nice  eyes  but,  he 
would  find  resistance  to  the  last  recalcitrant 
tissue  of  her  turbulent  nature. 

He  might  use  her  as  a  cigar  lighter. 

But  just  let  him  try  anything  else  and 


l 


CHAPTER  V 

mad,  passionate  ride  was  over  about 
supper-time. 

The  next  thing  Verbeena's  intel 
ligence  became  immersed  in  she  was  standing 
within  a  big  tent  brilliantly  lighted  by  respect 
able  old  candles  inside  of  two  hanging  lamps. 

But  she  didn't  have  much  chance  to  look  over 
these  things.  They  hung  too  high. 

What  was  solely  in  her  mind,  to  faithfully 
reproduce  its  own  process  accurately  was  the 
thought : 

"Where's  that  sapadillo  that  brought  me 
here?" 

Right  in  front  of  her  was  he  standing  and  she 
got  a  good,  unfurtive  look  at  him.  Sure  enough 
he  was  as  big  as  he  felt  when  he  had  her  grabbed 
to  him  on  horseback. 

The  thing  that  struck  her  immediately,  stirred 
her  curiously  amidst  her  emotions  of  hitherto 
unknown  fear  and  would  there  be  a  place  in  the 

58 


THE  SHRIEK  59 

tent  to  wash-up  properly,  was  that  his  hair 
didn't  match.  His  whiskers  were  black,  his  face 
was  really  red,  not  brown  as  she  saw  because  he, 
had  brushed  some  of  the  dust  off,  whilst  his 
head  hair  was  some  kind  of  color  or  other. 

Just  what  she  couldn't  tell. 

It  wasn't  red  and  it  wasn't  yellow. 

Was  it  as  of  the  cornflowrer  in  tassel? 

She  caught  her  breath.  This  was  no  time  to 
become  romantic.  She  was  an  icicle,  she  told 
herself,  and  must  continue  to  recall  that 
fact. 

He  was  looking  at  her  with  burning  eyes.  No 
wonder.  Her  own  were  burning  as  savagely  as 
her  nose.  The  sand  does  it. 

But  besides  he  had  a  curiously  mad  and  giddy 
gaze. 

It  was  as  if  he'd  caught  her  in  bathing  with 
her  clothes  on  a  hickory  limb.  And  wouldn't 
have  the  gentlemanliness,  the  decency  to  go 
away. 

She  liked  it  not  a  little  bit  and  was  so  nervous 
she  didn't  know  whether  to  throw  off  her  coat 
and  start  for  him  or  button  it  up.  She  buttoned 
it  up.  She  wondered  why.  But,  of  course,  it 


60  THE  SHRIEK 

was  the  way  he  was  looking  at  her  and  kept  look 
ing  at  her.  She  wished  she  had  more  buttons 
on  her  coat.  And  that  her  clothing  generally 
was  fastened  more  firmly.  His  malevolent 
eyes  had  such  a  dismantling  expression. 

Certainly  the  burly  wretch  wasn't  showing 
any  false  smoke-stacks. 

She  could  see  he  meant  business. 

And  such  a  business ! 

Verbeena  steadied  herself  on  a  cigarette. 

"Frapjous  ass!"  she  said  yet  well-knowing 
that  her  old  boyish  nonchalance  had  gone  fazizz. 
"Who  are  you?" 

"I  am " 

Ah,  the  organ  tones  of  his  voice!  A  little 
gritty  on  account  of  the  desert  sands  perhaps, 
but  deep,  thrilling,  throbbing.  It  tickled  the 
very  roots  of  her  clubbed  curls. 

Verbeena  vibrated. 

"I  am  the  Sheik  Amut  Ben  Butler!" 

The  name  conveyed  nothing  to  her. 

She  had  never  heard  of  Ben  Butler. 

He  turned  the  full  force  of  his  fify-two  candle 
power  passionut  glance  upon  her. 

"The  notion  of  this  game  is,"  he  said  in  his 


THE  SHRIEK  61 

deep,  devilish  voice,  "  'Give  and  Take.'  You 
give  or  I  take!" 

Verbeena  immediately  gave  a  shriek! 

And  she'd  never  done  anything  like  that  be 
fore  in  her  life! 

"Did  you  hear  that?"  she  demanded  tensely. 

"And  that!"  and  shrieked  again. 

"That's  what  you  look  like  to  me!  A  Shriek, 
Amut  Ben  Butler — it's  what  you  are  too!  And 
a  pretty  loud  and  silly  one! 

"You  let  me  right  out  of  here!  When  my  big 
brother  hears  of  this,  he'll  be  out  this  way  and 
kick  the  fol  de  rols  out  of  you!  That's  what'll 
happen.  The  nerve  of  you  with  your  banana- 
skinned  face  and  black  licorice  whiskers !  Stand 
back,  miscreant,  I  would  pass!" 

"May  Allah  bust  eggs  on  my  turban!"  hissed 
the  Sheik  Amut  Ben  Butler,  "but  this  is  a  saucy 
baggage!" 

With  that  he  threw  off  his  magnificent,  flow 
ing  white  cloak  and  he  hopped  her. 

He  had  her  in  a  mad,  palpitant  chancery  but 
Verbeena  put  up  some  great  infighting.  She 
gave  it  to  him  good — right  and  left  into  the  kish- 
kish  (ringside  and  Yiddish  for  breadbasket)  and 


««  THE  SHRIEK 

now  and  again  sought  the  point  of  the  chin  with 
a  left  uppercut  that  had  hitherto  always  served 
her  well.  It  had  beautifully  in  that  fight  with 
the  policeman. 

But  in  all  the  many  other  bouts  in  which  Ver- 
beena  had  been  engaged,  kissing  was  strictly 
foul.  It  was  sometimes  permitted  at  the  ring- 
sides,  she  had  observed,  at  the  end  of  a  fight,  but 
never  in  the  mix-ups. 

Unsportsmanlike  brute! 

For  as  she  let  go  a  wild,  desperate  uppercut 
it  shot  harmlessly  past  an  adroitly  lowered  chin 
and  the  next  instant  he  had  smacked  her  full 
upon  the  mouth. 

A  terrific,  scorching  smack! 

It  knocked  Verbeena  wuffy. 

She  could  almost  hear  a  referee,  a  misty,  in 
tangible  wraith-like  referee,  giving  her  the  full 
count,  for  the  hot  mouth  pressed  against  hers 
was  superlatively  soporific,  nicotinically,  garli- 
ciously  narcotic. 

"First  fall!"  grinned  the  Sheik  Amut  Ben 
Butler  the  while  he  chucked  the  giddy  girl 
through  some  heavy  curtains  upon  a  stack  of 


THE  SHRIEK  63 

soft  yellow,  pink,  red  (dark  and  light)  gold,  sil 
ver  green  and  mauve  cushions. 

Yet  Verbeena,  remember,  had  verve! 

Besides,  she  well  knew  the  ha-ha  the  world 
ever  handed  a  fallen  champ  or  lady  who  claimed 
to  have  been  drugged. 

Realizing  she  was  up  against  a  losing  fight, 
yet  she  arose  for  more  trouble.  Yep,  up  she  came 
defiant  if  saggy.  Nobody  had  ever  put  her  in 
such  a  bait  before!  She  would  go  on  with  it — 
on — on — on  with  it! 

She'd  get  him  yet! 

Yet  only  too  well  she  knew  that  one  more 
fragrant  kiss  like  that  which  she  had  just  put 
over  and  she  must  go  whiff-whaff. 

It  had  been  a  soul-numbing  smack.  And  she 
felt  her  knees  knockier  than  she  ever  had  known 
them. 

Also  she  seemed  to  have  had  just  then  a 
glimpse  of  her  moral  stamina  and  the  vision  was 
as  of  the  Leaning  Tower  of  Pisa  in  a  high  wind. 

Her  face  ached,  her  left  ear  ached  and  more 
awfully  than  either  her  peculiar  temperament 
ached. 

Her  face  showed  pain  in  every  lineament. 


64  THE  SHRIEK 

"I  ask  you,"  said  the  Sheik  Amut  in  his  slow, 
awful  drawl,  twirling  the  tassel  of  his  magenta 
sash,  "what's  the  idea  of  kicking  up  all  this 
shindy?  Aw — take  off  your  necktie!  Do  you 
expect  me  to  be  your  valet  as  well  as  lover?" 

"You "  she  began  in  crashing  opposition 

to  any  tomfoolery  of  a  dark,  questionable  nature. 

"Spaghetti!"  snapped  the  Sheik. 

She  observed  that  he  looked  over  her  shoulder. 
She  turned.  She  saw  then  a  little  fat  man  be 
hind  her  just  as  he  was  answering  reverently: 

"Aye — aye,  Monseigneur!" 

"The ,"  the  Sheik  nodded  fiercely  at  the 

little  man. 

She  hadn't  a  chance.    She  knew  it. 

She  saw  the  arm  of  Spaghetti  only  as  it  was 
descending.  The  hand  held  a  canvas  jacket  of 
the  size  and  shapely  proportions  of  a  corpulent 
bologna.  And  it  was  stuffed  with  Sahara. 

"See  here!"  cried  Verbeena.  "This  is  rotten. 
It's  not  cricket.  I " 

"Not  cricket  perhaps,  but  quite  clubby,"  said 
Amut  Ben  Butler  with  his  brutal  smile. 

The  blow  fell. 

Verbeena  vertigoed. 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHEN  Verbeena  came  to  she  was  the 
only  one  present.  Outside  she  could 
hear  the  Sheik's  horses  whinnying 
among  their  oats  and  the  incessant  chaffing  of 
his  men.  They  swarmed  outside  there.  And 
inside  were  other  swarms.  These  were  of  flies 
and  sandfleas.  She  was  more  or  less  grateful  to 
them.  They  kept  her  for  some  little  time  from 
thinking  of  anything  else. 

But,  of  course,  eventually  she  had  to  begin 
to  draw  a  few  conclusions.  The  design  of  these 
proved  cubistic  and  the  coloring  all  to  the  pal 
pitant  pink,  Gaugin  green  and  yammering  yel 
low. 

She  sought  pushing  herself  around  on  the 
divan  trying  to  get  away  from  herself,  but  al 
ways  returned. 

Finally  she  sat  up  with  her  chin  between  her 
knees  and  her  arms  around  her  ears  in  a  posture 

99 


66  THE  SHRIEK 

known  to  her  blithesome  boyish  days  as  the 
"caterpillar  crouch." 

But  by  no  mental  arrangement  could  she 
devise  for  herself  a  dittology  regarding  the 
cataclysmic  cropper  attendant  upon  her  career 
and  felt  herself,  therefore,  thoroughly  un 
manned  as  well  as  fatally  deladyized. 

She  knew  she'd  never  be  able  to  look  anybody 
in  the  face  again.  Especially  a  camel.  Camels 
always  had  such  nasty,  disdainful  expressions. 

From  thought  of  camels  she  passed  to  that  of 
Lady  Speedway,  and  this  caused  Verbeena  to  do 
a  full  pinwheel  on  the  cushions. 

If  this  affair  ever  got  out  wouldn't  it  just  be 
pickled  walnuts  for  old  putty-faced,  jabberwock- 
ing  Speedway!  O  God!  What  a  position  she 
was  placed  in!  O,  gosh! 

She  gave  one  of  her  old  time  boyish  leaps 
from  the  couch  and  seized  the  small  object  she 
saw  on  a  nearby  tabaret. 

The  object  was  the  stump  of  a  cigarette — a 
pretty  long  one.  Thank  heavens,  indeed,  that 
it  hadn't  burned  itself  to  naught  in  the 
night! 

She  remembered  sticking  it  down  there  when 
she  began  the  first  round  of  her  terrific  battle 


THE  SHRIEK  67 

with  Amut  Ben  Butler.  She  remembered,  too, 
that  it  had  been  her  last  fag. 

But  fate  had  been  good  to  her. 

Apparently  the  ciggy  had  gone  out  the  same 
time  she  did. 

She  scuffled  her  britches  for  a  match.  She 
lighted  up.  She  took  a  deep  inhale.  It  was 
tonic.  She  filled  her  lungs  again. 

A  "V"  now  formed  between  her  black  eye 
brows. 

Verbeena  was  coming  back! 

She  hopped  into  her  pants.  She  began  to  stir 
about  looking  for  other  things  to  put  on.  Just 
then  a  swarthy,  black-haired  young  creature,  a 
slip  of  a  girl  about  six  feet  tall,  entered. 

"Look  here "  began  Verbeena. 

"Ay  bane  Hulda,  the  maid,"  said  this  little 
Arab  girl.  "You  could  have  a  wash  for  yourself 
back  of  that  curtain  over  there.  It's  a  bath  in 
it  And  your  trunks  bane  come." 

"Three  cheers  for  both  those  things  at  least," 
murmured  Verbeena.  And  soon  she  had  tossed 
her  clothes  back  through  the  curtain  and  was 
splashing  about  in  her  usual  vigorous  fashion. 

When  a  little  later  she  thrust  her  head  through 
the  curtain  she  saw  that  Hulda  had  neatly  ar- 


68  THE  SHRIEK 

ranged  her  riding  britches  and  jacket,  her  mili 
tary  brushes  and  her  cigarette  cases  out  upon 
the  divan  and  was  digging  deep  in  one  of  the 
satchels  that  was  part  of  Verbeena's  luggage  re 
garding  which  it  would  seem  Sheik  Amut  Ben 
Butler  must  have  sent  a  retrieving  party  to  grab 
it  back  from  Musty  Ale. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  that  satchel?"  asked 
Verbeena  sharply. 

"Ay  bane  looking  for  your  razor,  kiddo," 
said  Hulda  deferentially. 

Verbeena  laughed  bitterly. 

"My  girl,"  she  said,  "don't  you  know  there's 
no  safety  in  this  awful  place?" 

By  this  time  Hulda  had  a  trunk  open.  It  con 
tained  the  pretty  dresses  Verbeena  had  brought 
along  for  girlish  evenings  on  the  Sahara.  Girl 
ish  evenings !  She  choked  back  a  sob. 

Aw,  gee!  Why  couldn't  she  have  been  let 
alone  to  swagger  about  always  in  her  cute  boyish 
britches! 

Hulda  looked  again  and  studied  Miss  Mayon 
naise's  head  and  shoulders  as  they  stuck  before 
the  curtain. 

She  stared  more  closely. 


THE  SHRIEK 


"Oho,"  cried  Hulda,  "Allah  bane  knock  me 
dead  for  a  dumbkopf !  I  git  it  now  what  is  it 
you  is.  Wait — I  git  a  Turkish  towel — we  got 
lots  of  'em,  we  have — and  I  give  you  a  Swedish 
massage." 

"Hulda,  my  desert 
child,  I  thank  you,"  said 
Verbeena  gratefully. 

By  the  way,  all  this 
time  they  had  been  talk 
ing  French  as  they  did 
later  when  Hulda  was  ar 
ranging  Verbeena's  cloth 
ing  anew. 

She  looked  up  at  her 
mistress,  her  big  black 
Swedish  eyes  puzzled  as 
she  asked: 

"Homme  or  femme  this 
morning?" 

"Homme/'  said  Ver 
beena  decidedly,  "excepting  that  after  I've  got 
my  long  boots  on  and  everything,  you  can  go  into 
that  third  trunk  to  the  right  and  pass  me  a  hat 
pin." 


HULDA, 

AN  AFRICAN  MAID. 

70  THE  SHRIEK 

"There!"  said  Verbeena  stamping  into  one 
boot  heartily.  "There,"  said  she  stamping  into 
the  other.  "Now,  Hulda  the  hatpin." 

She  saw  that  Hulda  watched  her  suspiciously 
as  she  handed  up  the  weapon. 

"That  will  be  all,"  said  Verbeena. 

But  Hulda  held  on. 

"Out  you  go,"  said  the  proud  captive 
brusquely. 

"But "  Hulda  still  watched  to  see  what 

disposition  Verbeena  meant  to  make  of  the  hat 
pin. 

"Off  with  you,"  repeated  Verbeena.  "What? 
Now,  then,  will  you  go !" 

The  distrait  girl  used  the  hatpin  lavishly  on 
Hulda. 

"Yumping  Yiminy  Allah!"  shrieked  the  Arab 
girl  and  hit  the  desert  with  abandon. 

Verbeena  was  rummaging  her  luggage  for 
cigarettes  when  a  soft  voice  sounded  behind  her: 

"Madame  is  doubtless  ready  for  lunch?" 

The  voice  was  pleasant,  indeed,  operatic  and 
even  before  she  turned  to  face  him  Verbeena 


THE  SHRIEK  71 

knew  she  was  about  to  get  her  second  view  of 
the  villain,  Spaghetti. 

"Don't  you  call  me  Madame,"  she  said 
fiercely,  "you  cowardly  sandbag  specialist.  Don't 
you  call  me  anything  less  than  Sheika  Verbeena. 
There's  going  to  be  a  wedding  around  here  as 
soon  as  I  lay  my  hands  on  that  unprincipled 
hoo-hoo  of  a  Sheik  of  yours.  And  don't  you 
forget  it." 

With  lithe,  strong  fingers  she  proceeded  to  put 
a  Grecian  bend  in  Spaghetti's  Roman  nose. 

"Do  you  hear?" 

She  followed  up  with  a  little  hatpin  treatment 
while  the  faithful  fellow  let  forth  a  coloraturo 
lyrico  outbursto  for  the  intervention  of  from 
twelve  to  fifteen  hundred  saints. 

"Hop  about  and  get  me  about  fifty  boxes  of 
cigarettes,  one  hundred  each,  long,  fat  ones,  do 
you  hear?  What's  that?  Remember,  once  for 
all,  Spaghetti,  I  want  none  of  your  sauce." 

Outside  the  tent  Spaghetti  kissed  his  fingers 
with  a  fierce  smack,  made  a  noise  like  a  buzz 
saw  through  his  teeth  while  drawing  a  fore 
finger  across  his  throat 


72  THE  SHRIEK 

It  was  the  high  sign  that  in  matters  of  terrible 
vengeance  the  Black  Hand  never  muffs. 

"Gott  in  Himmel!"  he  snarled  under  his 
breath.  "Joost  wait  teel  da  padrone,  da  boss,  de 
beega  da  feP  geet  back!  You  catcha  sometang. 
See  like  maybe  you,  sapristi,  don't!" 

Despite  his  feelings,  however,  he  hot-footed 
a  return  with  the  cigarettes  and  it  was  to  be  no 
ticed  that  when  he  bowed  low  and  handed  them 
to  her  he  said: 

"Here,  Queen." 

Well  aware  was  he  that  he  would  remember 
that  hatpin  at  meals  for  days  to  come  and,  expert 
chef  that  he  was,  he  regarded  with  horror  the 
idea  of  a  future  in  which  he  would  figure  as 
Spaghetti  enbrochette. 

But — aha !  let  the  big  fellow  handle  her !  The 
padrone,  the  grand  demon,  him,  the  goldo  fel 
low,  Monseigneur,  he'd  mighty  quick  show  her 
who  was  the  real  frito  misto  of  that  establish 
ment! 

Though  why  in  the  world  the  boss  wanted 
to  dally  with  a  donna  that  looked  and  acted  more 
like  wallyo,  presented  a  mystery  Spaghetti  sadly 
admitted  to  himself  was  too  much  for  him  to  un- 


THE  SHRIEK  73 

ravioli.  So  he  stirred  himself  in  her  behalf  for 
the  nonce  and  fetched  her  some  cous  cous  into 
which  he  let  go  the  red  pepper  with  a  lavish,  fine 
Italian  hand. 

For  if  she  strangled  to  death  he  could  always 
pretend  he  had  got  mixed  and  thought  it  was 
the  cinnamon. 


CHAPTER  VII 

WHAT  Spaghetti  was  wishing  for  Ver- 
beena  was  wondering  concerning. 
Whereabouts  now  was  this  bold 
devil,  Amut?  And  when  would  he  be  home? 
To  be  sure,  Spaghetti  had  said,  she  sort  of  re 
membered,  that  the  Sheik  would  be  home  for 
dinner  and  that  he  ate  at  eight.  But  he  might 
come  in  any  old  time  and  surprise  her.  For, 
cogently  considered,  wouldn't  that  be  just  like 
him?  That  he  was  a  nasty  feller,  how  could  she 
doubt  it?  Of  the  Machiavellian  character  of  the 
black-whiskered,  tow-headed  mazib  hadn't  she 
right  then  sufficient  evidence  to  swing  any  jury? 

"Boo-hoo,  Boo-hoo!"  sobbed  Verbeena  en 
tirely  in  the  feminine  gender. 

But  six  or  seven  cigarettes,  the  knowledge  of  the 
hatpin  stick  beneath  the  left  breast  of  her  Nor 
folk  jacket  with  the  right  hand  fully  informed 
about  it  and  something  else  that  she  had  up  her 
sleeve  (I  can't  tell  you  yet — no,  really,  honest, 
I  can't,  for  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  Verbeena — 

74 


THE  SHRIEK  75 

might  give  her  away  in  a  critical  moment)  some 
thing  else  that  she  had  up  her  sleeve  reassured 
her  mightily. 

And  if  I  could  only  tell  you  what  she  was 
thinking  about  doing  just  then!  "Durn  it!"  your 
heart  would  surely  go  out  to  the  cute  bantam! 
Gaw,  bless  her! 

Remembering  as  well  that  Britains  never  shall 
be  slaves! 

And  that,  moreover,  if  you  are  not  that  kind 
of  a  girl  and  are  truly  indignant  why  then,  my 
dear,  your  ship  of  Fate  gathers  no  moral  bar 
nacles. 

Although,  of  course,  in  the  matter  of  just 
what  kind  of  a  girl  Verbeena  was,  if  any,  a  pal 
pable  ambiguousness  veers  to  the  verge  of 
anguish. 

But  while  this  juncture  is  pending  in  which 
passion  is  scheduled  to  bridle  and  burst  into 
tongues  of  flame  high  as  a  gas  tank  in  eruption, 
gave  Verbeena  a  chance. 

That  is  to  look  around  Sheik  Amut  Ben  But 
ler's  wicked  desert  diggin's. 

Huh — not  that  they  were  so  much! 

Some  Oriental  hangings  showed  up  as  if  they 


76  THE  SHRIEK 

were  embroiderd  by  blacksmiths  and  colored  by 
accident  and  chewed  by  rats. 

There  were  two  silver  inlaid  Moorish  stools 
that  would  hold  you  if  you  were  careful.  There 
was  a  fine-looking,  hand-carved  chest,  big  and 
impressive,  that  Verbeena  peeked  into  thinking 
it  would  reveal  perhaps,  wondrous  stores  of 
Bagdad  lace  curtains  or — heaven  alone  could 
tell!  —  perhaps  the  corpse  of  his  former 
victim ! 

She  opened  it  and  then  shut  it  in  a  hurry.  A 
person  may  fairly  be  curious.  But  not  about 
somebody  else's  old  shoes. 

However,  a  splendid  collection  of  ivory  and 
silver  and  ivory  and  gold  and  ivory  and  brass 
and  ivory  and  tin  and  ivory  and  goodness-knew- 
what  cigarette  cases,  hit  Verbeena  right  in  the 
eye.  She  selected  about  sixteen  she  thought  she 
might  like  and  put  them  aside  in  one  of  her 
trunks  to  be  called  for  later. 

Should  Amut  miss  'em. 

Although  according  to  her  designs,  even  if  he 
did — even  if  he  did 

Excuse  me,  for  holding  off  a  bit  longer.  No 
fault  of  the  author  truly. 

He's  coming  is  Amut.    But  you  see  he  is  do- 


THE  SHRIEK  77 

ing  a  Sheridan  on  a  flashing  steed  and  is  as  yet 
several  miles  away.  Two  at  least. 

Just  let  him  gallop  a  few  minutes  because 
Verbeena  has  started  examining  his  book  case 
and  that  if  anything  should  tell  her  what  kind 
of  a  bibliophile,  Francophile  or  Swissoup  this 
strong-armed  philanderer  was. 

It  was  a  surprise  to  Verbeena  to  find  there 
this  case  of  books  for  she  had  always  thought 
that  all  to  be  expected  of  the  Sahara  was  vol 
umes  of  dates. 

However,  she  stood  corrected  so  she  scanned 
the  titles.  At  the  very  first  she  drew  back  with 
a  shudder  having  read:  "Poems  of  Passion" 
by  Ring  Lardner. 

Then  "The  Children's  Hour"  by  Ghee  de 
Maupassant. 

Pshaw,  she'd  read  that! 

Kraft-Ebing  also  was  old  stuff. 

And  she  passed  over  without  interest  a  cor 
pulent  tome  entitled  "Der  Vaw;  Vhy  Ve  Dit 
Id  Bad"  by  LudendorfL 

Then  she  came  upon  "Manly  Beauty,  Its 
Dangers  and  Temptations,"  by  Irvin  Cobb  and 
Paul  Swan. 

Two  other  titles,  however,  fascinated  her. 


78  THE  SHRIEK 

One  was  "Florinda  of  the  Furnished  Rooms" 
by  Robert  W.  Chalmers,  and  the  other 
"Maurice  of  the  Monkey  Glands"  by  Elinor 
Flynn  in  collaboration  with  the  author  of 
"Arzan  of  the  Apes." 

"Eeny,  meeny,  minee,  mo — "  began  Verbeena 
when  another  title  clattered  against  her  vision. 
"The  Passion  Worm  of  the  Sahara,  an  Account 
of  its  Discovery,"  by  Robert  S.  Hitchings. 

At  first  she  derived  about  ten  degrees  of  com 
fort  from  the  discovery  that  Amut  wasn't  exactly 
a  raw  native,  that  he  was  probably  half-baked 
at  least.  She  felt  that  it  would  be  logically  safe 
to  presuppose  that  she  was  mixed  up  with  a  king 
of  the  desert,  who  might  be  found  to  be  super 
ficially  coated  with  a  veneer  of  civilization  that 
was  tenuous. 

And  yet  dared  she  find  comfort  in  that? 
Might  it  not  make  him  the  more  horrible, 
sinister,  intolerable,  cheekier  and  fresher  than 
ever,  this  desert  devil  in  whom  passion  dictated 
the  methods  of  a  chiropractitioner? 

"O,  hum!"  screamed  the  distrait  and  fearful 
Verbeena  doing  a  backfall  among  the  cushions. 

There  was  one  good  thing  she  could  say  for 


THE  SHRIEK  79 

him  anyway— his  cigarettes  were  smokable. 
They  were,  she  had  seen  by  the  boxes,  of  the 
famous  brand  of  Bull  Camel. 

Of  one  thing  she  was  con 
vinced.  There  would  be  no 
sandbagging  this  evening. 

She  had  reduced  Spaghetti 
to  where  she  had  only  to  show 
him  the  hat  pin  and  he  would 
run  right  out  and  sit  in  the 
sand.  She  had  made  him 
produce  the  sand-bag  too, 
had  ripped  it  open  and 
poured  the  contents  back  into 
the  desert. 

Also  she  had  asked  Spa 
ghetti  numerous  questions 
about  the  Sheik  Amut  and  as 
far  as  she  could  make  out  his 
chief  business  was  that  of  a 
breeder,  trainer  and  trapper 
of  horses  of  a  high-class  character. 

Nothing  in  the  trucking  way  but  mostly  for 
society  and  circus  uses.    The  business  of  femme- 


SPAGHETTI. 


80  THE  SHRIEK 

snatching,  her  informant  had  assured  her,  was 
totally  new  to  him. 

Did  he  have  a  harem? 

No,  Spaghetti  thought  not.  It  was  very  hard 
to  keep  one  these  days.  Especially  when  your 
business  had  you  out  on  the  desert  running  an 
ambling  horse  farm.  You  were  so  likely  to  re 
turn  to  Biscuit  or  Orange  or  Ammonia  and  find 
the  harem  had  run  out  on  you,  bobbed  its  hair 
and  got  jobs  as  manicure  girls  in  Constantinople. 

"That  will  be  all,"  then  had  remarked  Ver- 
beena  and  had  further  taken  a  tuck  in  Amut's 
devoted  servant  by  saying: 

"It  is  absurd;  don't  you  think,  for  you  to  call 
yourself  Spaghetti?  You're  much  too  fat. 
Macaroni  would  be  infinitely  more  suitable." 

"Aw,  Queena  Verbeena!"  protested  Spaghetti. 

"That  will  do.    You  may  go,  Mac." 

He  had  backed  out  as  becomes  one  departing 
from  royalty  and  a  hat  pin. 

Hulda  she  had  entirely  won  over  during  the 
afternoon.  She  had  given  the  little  six-foot 
thing  one  of  her  old  evening  gowns,  yet  a  modest 
garment  withal,  hanging  well  below  Hulda's 
shoulder  blades. 


THE  SHRIEK  81 

Dependably  Verbeena  was  to  be  suspected  of 
having  something  other  than  sawdust  under 
those  clubbed  curls  of  hers! 

She  was  just  wondering  if  she  could  go  so  far 
as  to  appoint  Hulda  policewoman  of  the  tent 
and  entrust  her  with  a  sand-club  when  there 
came  loud  yells  without  of  "Hip  hoy,  hip  hoy, 
hip,  hip;hip!  Allah,  Allah,  Allah!  AMUT!" 

Three  more  "Allans"  were  being  heartily 
given  still  yet  without  when  the  Sheik  Amut 
Ben  Butler  strode  haughtily  into  the  tent,  threw 
off  his  creamy  cloak  and  with  a  careless  motion 
tossed  his  bejeweled  classy  turban  among  the 
old  gold  and  silver  cushions,  thus  displaying  his 
shock  of  Sahara  colored  hair  above  his  stick 
licorice  black  chin  muff. 

Verbeena  savagely  and  swiftly  lighted  nine 
cigarettes  and  faced  him  peagreen  with 
pyromania. 

He  touched  off  a  cigarette  himself. 

"I  hope  Spaghetti  didn't  lay  down  on  his  job/' 
said  the  Sheik.  "Do  you  know  what  we're  go 
ing  to  have  for  dinner?" 

He  pushed  Verbeena  out  of  the  way  and 
stretched  himself  on  the  divan. 


82  THE  SHRIEK 

His  cold  manner  was  like  a  dash  of  water  of 
the  same  temperature  against  her  face.  Ver- 
beena  broke  into  a  watery  perspiration,  her  eyes 
got  watery  with  rage  and  her  mouth  watered  to 
bite  him  the  more  so  that  she  could  see,  despite 
the  nonchalant  manner  in  which  he  was  looking 
at  her,  he  was  yet  significantly  appraising  this 
outburst  as  a  valuable  asset  on  any  desert. 

His  presence  was  an  offense  and  she  would 
concede  no  amelioration  of  it  due  to  the  nature 
of  his  occupation  among  horses.  She  wished 
with  passionate  fierceness  that  she  could  dye  his 
hair  to  match  his  whiskers  or  his  whiskers  to 
match  his  hair.  And  the  dreadful,  cool  way  he 
was  lying  there  staring  at  her,  the  princely 
thing!  My — such  airs! 

"You  seem  to  think  everything's  nicely 
settled,"  said  Verbeena  icily.  "But  when  King 
and  Lloyd  George  hear  of  this,  they'll  put  such 
a  flea  in  the  ear  of  the  French  Government, 
they'll  be  after  you  with  a  hoop-la  and  a  full  set 
of  gendarmerie  armed  with  guillotines!" 

"A  pea  for  the  French  Government!  And 
holler-woller  for  the  Georges,  King  and  Lloyd.1' 

"You  seem  very  confident  of  immunity." 


THE  SHRIEK 


83 


SHEIK  AMUT  BEN  BUTLER,  THE  TERROR 
OF  THE  SANDS. 


84  THE  SHRIEK 

"Of  a  certainty,"  said  the  Sheik.  "I'm  de 
pending  on  Queen  Mary.  She's  an  awful  stiff 
one  for  the  proprieties,  you  know,  and  when  she 
hears  the  way  you  defied  conventions  and  went 
journeying  out  into  the  desert  without  so  much 
as  a  chaperon,  if  I  know  Mary,  she'll  say  it 
served  you  jolly  well  right.  Anyway,  what's 
one  of  those  countries  you  speak  of  got  to  do 
with  it?" 

He  gave  her  the  point  of  a  finger — slightly 
cigarette  stained,  but  very  stern. 

"You  forget,  hussy, — I  am  the  Sheik  Amut 
Ben  Butler.  I'm  the  Grand  Monarch,  the 
Monseigneur  of  this  entire  sand-patch — put  that 
in  a  cigarette  paper  and  smoke  it! 

"There's  another  Sheik  in  these  parts,  one 
Abraham  O'Mara  who  goes  around  as  if  he  cuts 
some  didoes  until  he  hears  I'm  in  the  neighbor 
hood  and  then,  Allah  behold  him  bolt  for  his 
simoon  cellar! 

"Besides,  he'll  soon  be  going  back  to  Ireland 
or  Palestine  now  and  I'll  be  taking  over  all  his 
sandlots  as  well.  So  you  can  see  for  yourself 
what  a  grass-cutter  I  am. 

"Don't  stand  there  shaking  your  sassy  red  curls 


THE  SHRIEK  85 

at  me  or  I'll  get  up  to  you,  do  you  understand?" 

Verbeena  gulped  grandiloquently. 

The  Sheik  sneered  at  her  violently. 

"See  here,"  he  said,  "you'd  have  made  a  fine 
chorus  boy  but  it  was  not  as  a  chorus  boy  or  any 
other  kind  I  saw  you  in  Biscuit.  So  shake  those 
Reginald  fixings  and  get  yourself  into  something 
with  fancy  trimmings,  something  decollete  and 
dashy.  I'm  surprised  to  find  you  so  prone  to 
forget  that  you  are  a  lady." 

"In  Biscuit — in  Biscuit?  You  saw  me  in  Bis 
cuit,  you  underbred  loafer?"  gasped  Verbeena. 

"That  cat  you  chased  off  the  balcony  fell  on 
a  brand  new,  very  natty  turban  I  was  wearing 
as  I  passed  the  hotel. 

"It  was  then  that  I  first  saw  you,  cutey!  And 
when  I  heard  you  were  going  to  make  a  desert 
hike  alone — well,  here  you  are,  little  one,  mon 
chit,  hale  and  hearty  if  a  bit  high-strung,  my 
sweet  ukelele." 

"Love — love!  You  speak  of  love!  'Twas  for 
a  ransom  you  rifled  me  of  my  liberty  and  what 
not,  you  big,  hulking  rotter!" 

He  regarded  her  scornfully. 

"As  a  man  who  gave  up  eighty-six  cents 


86  THE  SHRIEK 

American  cash  to  Musty  Ale  for  your  possession 
— and  this  I  did — shall  you  accuse  me  of  kidnap 
ping  you  for  ransom?" 

"Then  why — why — O,  gosh,  if  only  your  hair 
and  whiskers  matched!  But  I  know  Spaghetti 
lied." 

"  'Bout  what?" 

"He  said  he  didn't  know  of  your  ever  having 
any  other  girl  but  me." 

"Well,  naturally,"  the  Sheik  frowned  danger 
ously,  "Spaghetti  knows  better  than  to  do  any 
gossipin'  while  I'm  gone.  Still  it  is  true,  Verbie, 
that  you  are  the  first  one  I  have  ever  taken 
caravaning.  As  for  the  others " 

"The  others !  O,  golly,  golly  me !"  she  sobbed. 
"Listen  to  him — the  way  he  says  it — the  others 
—the  others!  Just  like  that!" 

"Why,  of  course,"  he  said  with  a  light  in 
souciance  that  was  paramountedly  the  pinnacle 
of  intense  impropriety.  "Let's  see — there  have 
been  Ayah  and  Beeyah,  Ceeyah  and  Deeyah, 
Eeyah,  ErTa,  Geeyah,  Aicha,  Aihyah,  Jayah, 
Kayah,  Ella,  Emma,  Ennapeayah,  Queahra, 
Essatee,  Dubla,  Exa,  little  Whyzee  and,"  the 
Sheik  Amut  sent  a  thin  stream  of  supercilious, 


THE  SHRIEK  87 

insolent  cigarette  smoke  at  the  trembling  Ver- 
beena,  "so  forth.  But  you  notice  there  was  a  'V 
missing  from  the  collection." 

"And  so  you " 

Partly — partly.  But  there  was  another,  by 
Allah,  a  deeper  reason." 

"What?" 

He  gave  her  a  look  that  was  awful  sneery. 

"That's  something  I'm  keeping  under  my 
turban  just  now,  Verbie.  The  way  you  go 
'round  here  asking  questions  you'd  think  we 
were  really  married  you  know." 

"And  are  we  not  to  be?" 

"Har-har!"  laughed  the  Sheik  Amut  Ben 
Butler. 

His  manner  of  laughter  was  ingrainedly  and 
corruscatedly  ironic. 

"Har-har!"  he  laughed  anew. 

Evidently  without  even  so  much  of  the  savor 
of  intention  that  might  take  a  favorable  skid  in 
the  direction  of  the  morganatic! 

Again  with  flaring  teeth — two  touched  with 
gold — he  laughed: 

"Har-Har!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

NEVER  was  any  girl  in  all  her  life  so 
grateful  for  a  good,  stiff  boyish  train 
ing  as  in  that  moment  found  herself 
Verbeena  Mayonnaise! 

She  thought  of  all  the  swimmin',  rowin', 
ridin',  boxin',  running  fighting  wrestlin'  she  had 
done  in  the  past  with  exultation.  She  even  con 
jured  up  the  long,  sad  face  of  Lord  Tawdry  with 
its  sable  curtains  and  experienced  a  wave  of 
gratitude.  In  the  nomenclature  of  Fate  she  felt 
that  at  this  moment  she  had  come  Seven.  Had 
not  her  life  been  one  long,  mystically  sym 
metrical  training  for  such  a  situation,  such  an 
emergency  as  this? 

So  he  sat  there  lawffing  at  her,  did  he?  He 
sat  there  making  nasty  eyes  at  her  expecting  her 
to  quiescently  quiver — that  soon  he  would  have 
her  where  he  would  be  feeding  her  cigarettes 
from  his  hand. 

She'd  show  this  Shreik  Amut  with  the  molas- 


THE  SHRIEK 


89 


ses  taffy  hair  and  licorice  whiskers  a  thing  or 
two! 

Yes,  and  three  and  four  and  five! 


THE  BIG  SCENE  IN  WHICH  VERBEENA  WITH  SPURS  AND   HATPIN 
TRIUMPHS  OVER  THE  AWFUL  SHEIK. 


Perhaps  six. 

Seven,  eight,  nine  and  ten! 

And  that  counts  "Out!" 


90  THE  SHRIEK 

"Allah,  O,  Allah,  HEY,  Allah!"  suddenly 
shrieked  Amut  Ben  Butler.  "What  in  the  name 
of  the  howling  hoptoads  of  Heligoland  is — is — 

owr 

You  will  recall  I  hope  there  was  hereinbefore 
mentioned  that  Verbeena  had  something  up  her 
sleeve?  Well,  I  really  wasn't  in  a  position  for 
Verbeena's  sake  to  give  the  real  information 
then.  As  a  matter  of  fact  she  had  it  in  one  of 
the  patch  pockets  of  her  dashing  little  riding 
jacket.  It  was  the  cous  cous  that  had  been  so 
overloaded  with  red  pepper  by  the  vengeful 
Spaghetti.  She  hadn't  eaten  a  speck  of  it.  She'd 
saved  it  all  for  Amut. 

When  he  would  have  staggered  blindly  up 
from  the  cushions  she  was  on  him  with  a  whirl 
wind  of  left  and  right  hand  hooks.  Then  came 
jabs,  swings,  swats,  wallops,  biffs  and  bangs! 
And  hammerlocks,  half  Nelsons,  strangle  and 
toe-holds!  This  way  and  that! 

All  Tawd  and  the  other  fellows  had  ever 
taught  her  she  was  using.  She  wouldn't  leave 
enough  of  him  to  crawl  through  a  rat-hole. 

A  vamp  of  violence  and  vengeance  working 
at  top  form  was  then  Verbeena  Mayonnaise! 


THE  SHRIEK  91 

"Spaghetti!"  squealed  the  Sheik  Amut 
ardently. 

His  faithful  servant's  pallid  face  appeared  in 
the  flapway. 

Only  to  see  his  august,  beloved  chieftain  on  all 
fours  with  Verbeena  just  mounting  his  back. 

"O,  momma!  O,  polpetteenies!"  gasped 
Spaghetti. 

"You  keep  out  of  this,  Mac,  or  you'll  get 
yours!"  warned  the  fighiin'  flapper  with  flash 
ing  eyes  which  shone  from  her  face. 

"Sapristi,  Queena  Verbeena!  Escusa!  I 
come  only  to  maka  aska  what  you  lika  for  eata? 
What  da  nica,  sweeta  lady  she  lika  for  deener, 
eh?" 

"Duck!"  said  Verbeena. 

Silently,  swiftly  the  perfect  servant  withdrew. 

The  while  Verbeena  had  not  for  an  instant 
paused  in  massaging  Sheik  Amut.  She  was  all 
dressed,  you  remember,  for  riding  and  when  she 
got  on  the  back  of  the  once  proud  devil  of  the 
desert  she  gave  him  the  spurs. 

And  then  the  hat-pin. 

His  screams  to  Allah  could  have  been  heard 
in  Mecca.  His  wild  horses  strained  at  their 


92  THE  SHRIEK 

tethers,  neighing  piteously  at  the  frightful  cries 
arising  from  the  canvas  abbatoir  that  had  once 
been  the  happy  bachelor  apartments  of  the  Sheik 
Amut  Ben  Butler. 

The  humps  of  the  camels  grew  pale  with 
fright  and  misery. 

The  swash-buckling  horde  of  Amut's  men, 
after  getting  what  strings  of  information  they 
could  from  the  gasping  Spaghetti,  took  to  the 
palm  trees  from  whence  they  tried  to  make  it 
plain  to  Allah  that  their  beloved  master  had 
gone  up  against  a  sheitana,  which  the  same  is  a 
lady  devil  of  the  first  water,  and  that  really  some 
thing  should  be  done  to  save  him  but  that  noth 
ing — nothing  short  of  heaven  could  really  avail. 

Meanwhile,  the  proud  Verbeena  just  roweled 
that  lofty,  haughty  boy  to  rags. 

And  ever,  ever,  ever,  ever,  always  the  hat 
pin!  The  more  he  reared  to  plunge  the  fairer 
the  mark. 

Truly  now  had  he  become  what  first  she  had 
called  him — a  Shriek.  But  as  not  less  than  a 
thousand  shrieks  sounded  the  plentifully  punc 
tured  passionut  of  the  Sahara! 


THE  SHRIEK  93 

Besides  ordinary  damage  his  proud  soul 
goosefleshed  with  horror. 

His  hauteur  became  hiatic. 

And  yet — and  yet  how  wonderful  she  was! 

What  a  marvelously  active  Verbie! 

He  felt  the  stirrings  in  his  heart  of  a  love, 
ponderose,  grandiose,  glamorous,  stupendous! 

It  was  indeed  very  dominant  in  his  veins  just 
about  the  time  she  slammed  him  back  on  the 
cushions  and  slapped  his  face  for  him  good. 

Her  vibrant  tones  in  spite  of  the  inner  cries 
of  protest  of  his  desiccated  manhood  he  found 
adorable  as  to  him  then  she  said: 

"You  multi-colored,  flashy,  hieroglyphic  son 
of  a  spavined  grandsire,  you  stalking,  frowning, 
sneering,  swaggering  imitation  of  something  that 
is  which  amounts  to  something,  you  that  are 
nothing  whatsoever  at  all!  Rotter,  bounder, 
boob — you  blurb,  blip,  you — don't  you  dare  to 
answer  me  back  or  I'll  set  fire  to  your  whiskers, 
you  flea-bitten — why,  what  in  the  world's  hap 
pened  to  'em?  Amut,  where's  your  whiskers?" 

"Over  there  on  the  floor,  back  of  you,  my 
Queen,"  said  the  Sheik  in  strange,  shivered 
accents  due  to  swollen  lips, 


94  THE  SHRIEK 

"I  don't  seem  to  remember  pulling  them  out." 

"O,  I'm  quite  sure  you  didn't.    You  see " 

"Good  God,"  said  Verbeena,  "more  treachery! 
Even  his  whiskers  are  false! 

"Tosh — I  might  have  known — Lillian  Rus 
sell  top  hair  and  Trotsky  chin  trimmings! 

"What  was  the  idea  of  this  face  screen  any 
way?  So's  I  wouldn't  be  able  to  identify  you  I 
suppose  after  you'd  squeezed  me  dry  and  threw 
me  over  at  Orange  with  all  the  rest  of  your 
amorous  alphabet?  Was  that  it,  hey?" 

"No,  by  Allah,  no,"  he  sobbed,  his  haughty 
head  tumbled  among  the  silver,  black,  green, 
blue,  pink  and  twilight  yellow  cushions. 

She  drew  forth  the  hatpin  which  is  so  much 
deadlier  than  the  scarfpin  of  the  species. 

"I  swear!    No — no,  Queenie,  no!" 

"Then  why  the  Hawkshaws?" 

"Allah  defend  me — I  cannot  tell  you — not 
if  you  kill  me,  my  sweet  wand  of  affliction!" 

"I  don't  know  what  I'll  do  later,"  said  Ver 
beena.  "But  anyway,  I'm  going  to  make  you 
marry  me  first. 

"Mac!"  she  called.    "Hulda!" 

They  came  humbly. 


THE  SHRIEK  95 

"Listen  to  this,  both  of  you!" 

"Yea,  O  Queen,"  they  answered. 

"Sheik  Amut  Ben  Butler,  you  say  you  are 
king  of  this  tail-end  of  the  desert?" 

"With  your  kind  permission,  Verbeena,  the 
First." 

"And  Parliament  and  everything?" 

"Yes'm." 

"Well,  Amut,  old  thing,  right  now  you  are  in 
session.  Pass  a  common  law." 

"I— I " 

"Stupid — like  they  have  in  America.  A  com 
mon  law  for  marriage.  If  a  man  and  woman 
agree  to  live  together  as  husband  and  wife — 
that  settles  it.  It  goes,  hook,  line,  sinker  and 
breakfast  cereals.  But  it  is  made  all  the  more 
binding  when  there  is  a  written  agreement  be 
tween  them. 

"All  in  favor,"  she  said  with  her  eyes  firmly 
on  the  passion-purged  orbs  of  Amut,  the  non- 
abductor,  "will  say  {AyeP" 

"Aye!"  said  the  Sheik  Amut  Ben  Butler  in  a 
loud,  firm  voice. 

But  biting  the  while  a  quivering  underlip,  he 
soon  burst  into  tears. 


96  THE  SHRIEK 

Immediately  Verbeena  whipped  out  a  paper 
from  the  breast  of  her  Norfolk  jacket  and  laid  it 
before  him.  (That  girl  had  just  thought  of 
everything!  She  even  had  a  fountain  pen  right 
ready  for  him!) 

"Sign,"  she  said  simply. 

The  red  pepper  wasn't  all  out  his  eyes  by  any 
means,  but  the  broken,  quivering  creature  was 
able  to  read : 


"I,  Sheik  Amut  Ben  Butler  of  Oasis  No.  4 
Sahara,  and  I,  Verbeena  Mayonnaise  of  London 
and  lots  of  other  places,  on  this  day  do  take 
each  other  unto  each  other  as  man  and  wife,  the 
party  of  the  first  part  and  the  party  of  the  second 
agreeing  not  to  part  unless  through  the  inter 
vention  of  an  undertaker  or  a  divorce  judge  in 
which  latter  case  alimony  to  the  tune  of  fifty 
horses,  ten  camels  and  seventeen  tons  of  dates 
a  month  shall  be  promptly  and  persistently  paid 
unto  the  party  of  the  second  part  together  with 
fifty-fifty  on  the  proceeds  of  any  caravan  hold 
ups  hereinafter  possibly  to  occur." 

"You  will  see  that  it's  dated  yesterday,"  said 
Verbeena,  "but  that's  only  a  technicality." 
The  Sheik  Amut  signed.    She  signed.    Spa- 


THE  SHRIEK  97 

ghetti  signed.  Hulda  hurled  her  mark  on  the 
document 

"There,"  said  Verbeena,  "that's  that!  I'd  like 
to  see  Lady  Speedway  open  her  ole  fish-mouth 
when  our  caravan  pulls  into  Biscuit  again,  hey, 
Amut?" 

"Har-har-har!"  exclaimed  the  Sheik  with 
well-timed,  impromptu  heartiness. 

"Spaghetti,"  next  said  Verbeena,  "you  can 
serve  dinner  now.  And  go  light  on  the  use  of 
the  Italian  national  flower  in  your  cooking  or 
you'll  hear  from  me. 

"Hulda,  rip  down  that  bunch  of  moth-eaten 
hangings.  They're  an  eyesore.  I'll  get  some 
decent  chintz  curtains  as  soon  as  we  get  to  town. 
And  pick  up  all  those  revolvers  and  daggers  and 
such  truck  and  throw  them  into  the  store  tent." 

She  turned  again  to  the  Sheik. 

"You'll  have  to  get  up  and  get  out  early  to 
morrow,  Mutty,  dear,  because  I  shall  simply 
have  to  start  housecleaning  first  thing  in  the 
morning." 

"As  Allah  wills,  my  love." 

"Nonsense.    I'm  sick  of  this  stuff  of  putting 


98  THE  SHRIEK 

everything  up  to  Allah.    You'll  just  get  up  and 
do  it  on  your  own  account,  do  you  hear?" 

"You  betcher,"  said  Sheik  Amut  Ben  Butler 
right  on  the  dot. 

"May  I  have  another  cigarette,  Verbie?" 
came  the  honeyed  accents  of  the  Sheik  Amut  as, 
dinner  finished,  coffee  was  being  served. 

"Just  one.  Too  much  smoking  will  affect  the 
steadiness  of  your  hand  in  horse-training.  I 
must  look  into  the  condition  of  the  herd  myself 
to-morrow." 

"Yes,  do,"  he  assented.  "I'm  afraid  I've  been 
pretty  slack  but  you  know  how  a  bachelor  is — 
sporting  around  a  good  deal,  he  is  likely  to  for 
get  business." 

She  reached  for  her  handbag  and  got  out  a 
tin  of  candied  violet  leaves. 

She  fed  him  about  ten  which  he  chewed  as 
delicately  as  he  might — much  more  delicately, 
Verbeena  noticed,  than  the  camels  chewed  gum. 

Verbeena  was  pleased. 

"Under  the  extraordinary  circumstances,"  she 
finally  stated,  "and  the  legal  steps  having  been 


THE  SHRIEK  99 

duly  taken  and  perfected,  there  is  not  in  so  far 
as  I  can  see,  any  valid  reason  why  marital  rela 
tions  may  not  with  perfect  propriety  eventuate." 
"Allah,  oh,  Allah!"  sobbed  the  Sheik  softly 
beating  his  turban  profusely. 


CHAPTER  IX 

MONTH.  A  little  more  than  a  month! 
Thirty-one  days  to  be  exact!  O, 
Allah,  it  seems  a  life  time!"  sobbed 
the  Sheik  Amut  Ben  Butler.  "A  month  since  I 
grabbed  her  hot  off  the  Biscuit!  Would  that 
then  I  had  developed  butter  fingers!  And  yet!" 

He  buried  his  face  deep  in  the  cushions  and 
ate  at  them.  He  didn't  cry  out.  It  wouldn't 
have  done  the  least  good. 

Nobody  would  have  answered.  His  horses, 
camels  and  men  were  all  scared  positively 
puerile  and  near  to  death  of  Verbeena.  When 
ever  they  saw  her  coming  they  hurried  like  the 
deuce  in  every  other  direction. 

And  yet! 

Hypothetically  considered,  the  situation  was 
not  extraneously  alarming.  But  otherwise  it  was 
vicariously  vazink. 

The  Sheik  tossed  and  tossed  around  and 
around. 

100 


THE  SHRIEK  101 

She  was  certainly  the  hottest  penny  he'd  ever 
picked  up  in  his  life,  this  little  red-head. 

"The  first  thing  you  know,"  he  told  himself, 
"you'll  be  falling  in  love  with  this  athletic  young 
squidge.  And  then  won't  you  be  ashamed  of 
yourself!" 

Because  if  he  did  really  he  should. 

The  way  she  bossed  him! 

Dawn  couldn't  begin  on  the  desert  without  the 
Sheik  Amut  being  turned  out  with  a  slim  cup 
of  coffee  to  break  horses.  Or  direct  the  curry 
ing  of  camels.  And  camels  require  infinite 
currying.  If  you  want  to  live  around  the  same 
oasis  with  them  it  has  long  been  decided  that 
this  is  quite  essential. 

And  in  all  his  former  experiences  he  had 
never  known  that  a  camel  could  laugh.  But  now 
he  knew  they  all  did  whenever  he  passed  by. 

Besides  he  was  losing  money,  for  in  breaking 
horses  he'd  acquired  a  habit  of  killing  them 
while  thinking  of  Verbeena. 

And  yet! 

O,  Allah,  she  had  such  a  fascinating  way  of 
displaying  romantic  womanhood  when  he  most 
expected  the  hatpin! 


103  THE  SHRIEK 

But  still  he  knew  his  men  were  beginning  to 
call  him  "Tame  Turban"  and  "Shakes"  instead 
of  Sheik. 

The  incumbrance  of  their  pitying  glances  was 
getting  his  cosmic  lizard. 

He  never,  these  days,  slung  on  his  flowing, 
dashing,  romantic  white  cloak  without  feeling 
like  a  whipped  cream. 

Conjurically  he  considered  himself  a  storm- 
tossed  palm  branch  hopelessly  missing  its  dates. 

He  didn't  have  a  pillow  he  felt  he  had  a  right 
to  pile  on. 

He'd  been  in  the  habit  of  sprawling  around 
on  his  cushions  whenever  he  blamed  felt  like  it. 
But  not  so  no  more!  Verbeena  could  become  so 
exceedingly  vituperish  and  so  conspicuously 
arousing.  So  different  was  she,  he  considered, 
than  varinol. 

Hashish  had  given  him  some  relief  but  his 
stock  of  that  was  gone  and  Verbeena  hadn't. 

The  way  she  wound  Spaghetti  around  her  lit- 
tie  finger  was  utterly  farnicaceous.  And  Hulda 
was  eating  out  of  the  hollow  of  her  cute,  steel- 
like  fingers. 

He  could  only  draw  comfort  from  knowing 


THE  SHRIEK  103 

that  he  and  Verbeena  had  the  cigarette  habit 
intolerably. 

"Shades  of  memory,  O,  Allah,  those  days 
when  I  was  cock  of  the  walk!" 

He  squirmed  bitterly  to  recall  the  fact. 

He  fumbled  about  among  the  pillows  well- 
knowing  that  not  a  tail  feather  remained.  In 
plain  words,  of  his  masculine  dominance  he 
realized  he  was  hirsutically  tweezered. 

There  was  nothing  left  for  him  to  Sheik  but 
escape. 

Verbeena,  he  saw,  was  fast  asleep  and  for  this 
he  gave  several  still,  small  praises  unto  Allah. 

There  among  the  cushions  he  kicked  himself 
softly  for  never  having  thought  things  clearly 
out  before. 

But  now — aha!  His  horse,  Sunstroke,  would 
stand  by  him!  That  is  to  say  run  with  him  as 
he  must  if  it  was  to  do  any  good.  And  pretty 
fast,  too,  he  conjectured,  Sunstroke  must. 

Sheik  Amut  Ben  Butler  made  just  about  then 
a  cold  sneak  from  the  side  of  Verbeena.  Toes 
and  finger  tips  were  clammy  with  apprehension. 

At  this  time,  deep  down,  his  torn  and  tortured 
pride  was  crying  to  the  astral  heights: 


104  THE  SHRIEK 

"O,  Allah,  Allah,  Allah,  is  it  never  going  to 
end?  Am  I  ever  going  to  get  away  from  her?" 

And  things  like  that. 

He  had,  as  a  matter  of  verity,  long  felt  that 
he  should  take  to  the  woods,  but  how  could  he 
on  the  Sahara! 

Either  Oasis  No.  3  or  5  was  a  heck  of  a  dis 
tance. 

Yet 

Verbeena  stirred. 

That  decided  him. 

Swiftly  he  filtered  through  the  flap  in  the  tent 
and  out  under  the  stars. 

He  stepped  carefully  over  Spaghetti  but 
Spaghetti  was  so  nervous  these  times  he  awak 
ened  very  easily. 

"Shush,  not  a  word!"  quavered  the  Sheik. 

Pathetically  Spaghetti  ostriched  and  dorma 
nt  obil  ay. 

With  stupendous  caution  Amut  stalked  among 
the  steeds.  His  ego  was  so  inherently  erased 
that  he  touched  the  nose  of  Sunstroke  apologetic 
ally,  fearsome  that  even  his  own  horse  might  say 
him  nay. 

But  Sunstroke  laughed  good-naturedly.  A 
horse  laugh,  to  be  sure,  yet  nevertheless  nothing 


THE  SHRIEK  105 

nasty  in  It.  Sunstroke  was  only  a  kid  and  full 
of  larks.  He  was  all  for  the  notion  of  churning 
the  desert  in  the  small  hours  of  the  night  and 
whizzled  his  tail  gayly  to  indicate  it. 

For  that,  the  Sheik  kissed  him. 

He  was  so  very  grateful  to  meet  one  in  whom 
the  urge  of  travel  was  prevalent. 

Taking  the  saddle  like  a  lamb,  Sunstroke 
nevertheless  hopped  forth  as  of  a  piece  of  cy 
clone. 

On  the  Sahara  even  a  horse  is  granted  rubber 
heels. 

Noiseless  the  departure. 

"Fare  well,  well,  well,  Verbeena!"  shunted 
the  Sheik  Amut  softly  to  the  handsome  stars. 

The  stars  are  really  very  handsome  on  the 
Sahara.  And  so  close.  One  feels  like  picking 
them.  On  some  kinds  of  drinks  one  often 
tries. 

But  Sheik  Amut  Ben  Butler  knew  that  he 
must  not  linger  to  become  so  engaged. 

With  Allah  quiescently  concurring,  Sheik 
Amut  hoped  ere  morn  to  pull  Sunstroke  up, 
lathered  with  foam  necessarily,  in  Tipzaza  or 
perhaps  Tlemcen  although  in  a  vague  way  he 
dreamed  of  Fez  because  there  was  a  big,  stone 


106  THE  SHRIEK 

wall  around  that,  and  gladsomely  he  killed 
many  miles  of  the  desert  but 

Alas!  Allah  would  have  appeared  to  have 
quit  him  altogether. 

His  dreams  of  freedom  were  due  to  detonated 
dispersal. 

There  was  the  crack  of  a  pistol! 

Sunstroke  sat  down  ultimately. 

From  the  sandpile  where  Amut  found 
himself  sitting  on  a  troubled  head  the  Sheik 
began  to  reason  that  Verbeena  was  arrived. 

Counsel  couldn't  help  him  he  very  well  knew. 

It  was  positively  she.  Because  he  heard  her 
voice  demanding: 

"How  dare  you?  What  do  you  mean  by  it? 
Answer  me  this  instant!  Who  were  you  making 
off  to  see — Ayah  or  Beeyah  or " 

"Aw,  what  the  dickens,"  said  the  Sheik  Amut, 
with  a  half  show  of  spirit.  "All  you  caught  me 
was  a  horse!" 

She  slung  him  across  her  saddle  as  even  once 
he  had  slung  her  and  she  frequently  held  him 
head  down  on  the  journey  for  as  she  said  to  him, 
this  sends  the  blood  to  the  head  and  he  could  the 
better  therefore  think  of  the  atrocity  he  had 


THE  SHRIEK  107 

planned.  Now  and  then  she  would  dip  his  head 
in  the  sand  to  brush  up  his  repentance. 

That  same  night  at  home,  the  Sheik  made  a 
harrowing  error.  His  diplomacy  proved  catas- 
trophical.  For  he  dug  up  a  treasure  bag  and 
out  of  it  drew  a  necklace  of  gorgeous,  pallid 
greenstones,  and  dangled  them  before  her  eyes. 

"After  all,"  said  he,  "it  is  you  only  I  can  ever 
love,  Verbeena!  Ah,  Verbeena!  You  fascinat 
ing  baby  mine!  Here — take  it — this  small 
token  of  the  burning  regard  of  my  Sahara  dis 
position!" 

Instead  of  graciously  accepting  she  nearly 
drove  his  turban  through  the  north  wall  of  the 
tent.  His  head  was  in  the  turban. 

"I  get  your  Oriental  subtlety,  you  wild  Eastern 
oaf!"  cried  Verbeena  her  red  curls  straightening 
and  standing  upright.  "You  think  I'm  a  jade, 
do  you?" 

On  the  Sahara  has  passed  into  song  and  story 
the  family  simoon  which  then  blew  across,  in, 
out,  about,  over  and  under  tent  of  Amut  Ben 
Butler. 


CHAPTER  X 

cous  had  given  way  to  good  old 
English  bacon  and  eggs  and  marma 
lade  on  the  breakfast  table  of  the  Sheik 
Amut  Ben  Butler. 

"Chief,"  said  the  Sheik  half-heartedly  to  Ver- 
beena,  slipping  a  piece  of  bacon  to  his  big,  dan 
gerous  Persian  hound  that  Verbeena  was  in  the 
habit  of  kicking  around  so  freely,  "would  you 
mind  if  I  had  a  friend  come  and  stay  for  a  bit?" 

"What  kind  of  a  character  may  this  be?"  de 
manded  Verbeena. 

"A  literary  light,  one  nearly  as  large  as  a 
moon.  He  sells  an  awful  lot  of  books." 

"Of  whom  are  you  speaking?"  asked  Queen 
Verbeena  readily  inducting  the  atmosphere. 

"Robert,"  the  Sheik  paused  because  he  was 
very  sure  of  his  grounds,  "Hitchings." 

"Literary  men,"  said  Verbeena,  "are  usually 
terrible  loafers  and  like  late  breakfasts  but  as 
to  Mr.  Hitchings  I  am  agreeable.  I  am  fully 

108 


THE  SHRIEK  109 

confident  as  regards  Mr.  Hitchings,  I  don't 
mind  saying.  He  is  always  interesting.  I  think 
it  was  reading  his  works  which  started  me  on 
this  trip." 

**It  rejoices  me  to  have  you  so  inclined,"  said 
the  Sheik.  "And  Bob  will  be  pleased." 

"That's  up  to  him,"  smiled  Verbeena,  taking 
a  heavy  smash  at  the  marmalade.  "Although 
I  have  every  confidence  that  he  will  give  little 
trouble.  From  his  tales  of  passion  I  am  certain 
he  is  well-behaved.  But  in  view  of  the  event 
I  think,  Amut,  we  should  really  move  to  a  larger 
oasis.  It's  possible  he  carries  his  adjectives  with 
him." 

"Wonderfully  thoughtful,"  murmured  the 
Sheik. 

"What  did  you  say?"  asked  Verbeena. 

"I  said,  'Hello,  kid!'" 

"Hello,"  said  Verbeena. 

To  the  Sheik  her  affability  was  immeasurably 
amazing. 


The  Ben  Butlers  had  moved  to  Oasis  No.  12. 


110 


THE  SHRIEK 


This  was  a  suburb  of  Oudjda  from  whence,  if 
you  were  out  of  things,  you  could  always  get 
breakfast  at  Guercif. 

For  three  days  Mr. 
Hitchings  had  been  taking 
his  meals  and  notes  with 
the  Ben  Butlers. 

His  observations  of  the 
Sheik  and  Verbeena  had 
moved  his  heart  to  pity. 
So  that  he  had  very  little 
left  when  the  Sheik  was 
carried  in  by  two  men.  A 
_  horse  had  refused  to  be 

ft  r^J      trained   and  the   Sheik  A. 

l^  /   |         Ben   Butler  was   therefore 

invested   with    six    broken 
ribs. 

He  breathed  like  a 
dice-box  in  full  cry. 

Verbeena   prodded   the 
Sheik   somewhat   and,    de 
ciding   that   he   wouldn't   die,    came    into   the 
outer  tent  and  caused  Mr.  Hitchings  to  pause 


THE  ALLEGED 
MR.    HITCHINGS. 


THE  SHRIEK  111 

in  the  taking  of  his  notes  by  pulling  his  chair 
from  under  him. 

"Did  you  wish  to  speak  to  me?"  said  Mr. 
Hitchings  under  the  chair  and  circumstances. 

"A  little,  Robert.  Who,  you  know,  after  all, 
is  he?" 

"You  mean  Sheik  Amut?" 

"I  certainly,"  said  Verbeena,  "am  not  dis 
cussing  Velasquez,  Amerigo  Vespucci  or  Jack 
Dempsey.  The  yellow  hair  and  the  black 
whiskers  are  noticeably  incompatible,  don't  you 
think?" 

"To  be  sure,"  assented  Mr.  Hitchings.  "Well 

then "  and  he  got  red  in  the  face.  "I'll  tell 

you.  It  was  this  way: 

"In  the  first  place  he  hates  the  English." 

"I  hadn't  noticed  that,"  said  Verbeena. 

"But  he  does — really.    And  why?" 

Verbeena  lifted  her  clubbed  curls  well  off  her 
ears. 

"Why?" 

For  some  reason  or  other  she  saw  that  Mr. 
Hitchings  looked  greatly  distressed. 

"Because — well,  you  see,  his  father  was  the 
Earl  of  Glucose  but  not  a  sticker  for  the  pro- 


THE  SHRIEK 

prieties.  I  might  even  say  he  drank  freely. 
That  was  not  a  habit  clearly  to  take  into  the 
Sahara.  And  when  thus  bedizened  he  some 
times  failed  in  courtesy.  Especially  toward  his 
wife.  She  was  Spanish  but  unquestionably  all 
her  life  long  had  walked  normally.  She  was  a 
bit  of  a  Moor  too.  But  new  to  sand-dunes. 
One  evening  the  Earl  of  Glucose  feeling  like 
kicking  about  a  bit  selected  his  wife.  He  busied 
himself  thus  for  some  time. 

"Then  it  would  seem  he  kicked  her  so  far  that 
he  couldn't  find  her  nor  could  she  find  herself 
and  thus  it  was  she  happened  upon  the  suburban 
oasis  of  Sheik  Ben  Butler,  senior. 

"A  boy  was  born.  Kicking  just  like  his 
father. 

"The  Sheik  did  not  send  her  to  his  harem  but 
kept  the  Spanish  lady  with  him  hanging  right 
around  his  neck  until  she  died  in  his  arms.  Not 
promptly  but  nearly  so. 

"The  truth  now,"  said  the  distinguished  novel 
ist,  "is  on  the  point  of  bursting  forth! 

"Amut  is  that  woman's  son!" 

"Mr.  Hitchings!" 

"I  don't  wonder  that  you  are  surprised.   Amut 


THE  SHRIEK  113 

was  too  when  he  heard  it.  We  all  were!  You 
see  my  father  was  in  America  at  the  time  and 
the  Sheik  was  in  China  and  so  they  met.  By 
the  same  chain  of  circumstances,  Amut  and  I 
were  both  educated  in  Siberia.  You  understand? 
But  even  if  you  don't,  I  don't  either.  Still  it  is 
explanatory,  is  it  not?" 

"Mr.  Hitchings!" 

"Beg  pardon." 

"Let  me  get  you  a  fresh  green  carnation." 

She  pinned  it  on  him.  They  grow  freely  in 
the  desert. 

But  she  said  emphatically: 

"The  story,  sir,  is  wholly  unworthy  of  you." 

"Good  heavens!"  said  Mr.  Hitchings  in  in 
effable  alarm.  "This  isn't  my  stuff!  How  could 
you  think  it?  How  ridiculous  of  me  to  have 
permitted  myself  to  be  persuaded  by  Amut  to 
try  and  put  this  over!  I  regret  the  attempt 
abysmally.  Right  now,  hear  me,  fair  lady:  I 
wash  my  hands  of  the  Hull  thing!" 

"Friendship  may  excuse  this  conduct  of 
yours,"  said  Verbeena  coldly.  "But  how,  if  you 
are  also  English,  is  it  that  Amut  makes  a  friend 
of  you?" 


114  THE  SHRIEK 

"Now,  there's  something  else  again,  isn't  it? 
Just  as  if  a  rebellious  Sheik  around  here  for 
an  instant  would  make  a  bosom  friend  of  a 
Frenchman.  It's  a  desperately  silly  story  all  the 
way  through  and  I  surely  apologize  and — O — 
what?" 

Verbeena  had  seized  both  hands  and  just 
wouldn't  let  go. 

"Forget  it,"  she  was  saying.  "I've  something 
much  more  important." 

Her  eyes  flamed. 

"Will  you — O,  will  you,  my  dear  Mr.  Hitch- 
ings,  do  a  moving  picture  for  me?" 

"I  most  certainly  will,"  replied  Mr.  Hitch- 
ings,  "immediately — of  a  man  packing  his 

grip-" 

"But  I  beg  of  you,  who  is  he?  For  God's 
sake,  listen  to  a  woman's  plea !  Solve  this  mys 
tery  of  me  lord's  true  identity!" 

By  this  time,  however,  Mr.  Hitchings  had 
engaged  the  drawing  room  of  a  camel  and  was 
navigating  the  Sahara  by  means  of  the  good,  old, 
honorable  North  Star. 


CHAPTER  XI 

MR.    HITCHINGS   was    in    such    a 
hurry  hurtling  off  the  Sahara  with 
a  broken  climax  that  he  left  some 
things  behind. 

There  were  two  collar  buttons,  a  large  piece 
of  dignity  and  a  newspaper  clipping. 

The  collar  buttons  Verbeena  knew  she  would 
be  able  to  use,  she  kicked  the  lost  dignity  aside 
but  stood  interested  in  the  newspaper  clipping. 
Logically  too.    It  was  about  her. 

"MISS  MAYONNAISE  MUCHLY 
MISSING." 

Such  was  the  headline  in  the  Biscuit  Bis- 
mallah. 

And  the  article  went  on  to  say: 

"The  world  is  in  stupendous  alarm  over  the 
disappearance  of  Miss  Verbeena  Mayonnaise 
who  left  the  Hotel  Biscuit  here  without  her  ba 
con  and  eggs  more  than  a  month  ago  or  giving 

115 


116  THE  SHRIEK 

the  clerk  her  forwarding  address.  She  even  for 
got  to  pay  her  bill. 

"Her  intention  was  to  take  a  jaunty  junket 
into  the  far  wild  places  of  the  Sahara  and  it 
would  appear  that  she  has. 

"Not  a  squeak  has  been  heard  from  Miss 
Mayonnaise  since. 

"Miss  Mayonnaise,  indeed,  is  as  thoroughly 
missing  as  sauce  Neuburg  from  American  life. 

"She  was  a  grand  girl  in  a  gentlemanly  way 
and  things  really  don't  look  so  good  as  to  her 
fate. 

"It  is  deplorable  that  the  sands  of  the  desert 
carry  no  wireless  and  the  palm  trees  in  this  re 
gard  are  also  imperturbable. 

"The  terribly  alarmed  world  has  spoken  to 
the  British  authorities  demanding  an  immediate 
search  but  the  discouraging  reply  has  been: 
What  can  we  do?  The  Sahara  is  so  much  larger 
than  Scotland  Yard!' 

"Lord  Tawdry,  the  magnificently-mustached 
brother  of  Miss  Mayonnaise,  is  concerned  to  dis 
traction. 

"He  stopped  playing  bridge  long  enough  to 
say  so. 

"A  hotel  porter  of  the  Biscuit  whom  she  for 
got  to  tip,  it  is  understood,  has  instituted  a  search 
for  her  but  found  no  trace  of  the  faring  young 
adventurer  in  a  seventy-mile  trip  out  on  the 
desert  beyond  86,000  cigarette  stumps. 

"And  some  scattered  Arabs  running  around 
the  Sahara  asking  Allah  to  alleviate  their  condi 
tion  in  the  matter  of  a  she-demon  who  is  banging 


THE  SHRIEK  117 

a    great    and    well-known    Sheik    about    hap 
hazardly. 

"They  have  given  her  the  name  of  'Jinny.' 
"Although  this  clue  is,  of  course,  unpromising 
it  was  learned  by  cable  late  last  night  that  Sher 
lock  Holmes  has  telephoned  Doctor  Watson  to 
come  on  over  to  Baker  street,  he's  got  something 
interesting  on. 

"Confidence  has  been  hopefully  and  freely  ex 
pressed  that  if  Mr.  Holmes  doesn't  find  Miss 
Mayonnaise  he  will,  at  any  rate,  lose  Watson." 

Verbeena's  hopes  and  aims  went  vaunting  in 
a  very  triumphant  manner  on  the  reading  of  this 
clipping. 

It  was  mean,  however,  she  thought  of  Mr. 
Hitchings  not  to  have  shown  it  to  her. 

Yet  leaving  it  behind  may  have  been  one 
of  his  subtleties. 

Anyway,  hooray! 

Obviously  she  sensed  palpably  that  it  was  all 
highly  intriguing. 

Mad  emotions  stirred  the  Sheik  to  follow  her 
with  an  admiring  eye  when  to  show  how  pleased 
she  was  she  went  forth  on  the  newly  leased  oasis 
and  threw  herself  among  the  tops  of  the  palm 
trees  indiscriminately. 

In  swift  palpitation  that  made  his  heart  beat 


118  THE  SHRIEK 

the  Sheik  hugged  his  bandaged  ribs  and  watched 
her. 

She  moved  gracefully  among  the  tree  tops 
snapping  branches  off  heartlessly.  She  radiated, 
also,  he  saw,  mercilessly  among  the  verbiage. 

In  spite  of  a  week's  notice,  for  Verbeena 
meant  to  can  Spaghetti,  the  faithful  fellow  had 
drawn  up  to  the  Sheik's  side  and  Amut  turning 
wonderingly  toward  him  asked  wildly: 

"Are  they  the  Willies  she's  got  or  what?" 

"O,  Monseigneur,  merely  angelically  acro 
batic,"  said  Spaghetti  with  a  touch  of  reverence 
that  was  reverberating. 

Suddenly  Verbeena  vamoosed  from  the  palm 
trees,  fell  thirty  feet  with  a  happy  turn  which 
landed  her  directly  on  the  shampoo  bandage 
which  was  the  Sheik's  native  headgear. 

"My  dear,  your  exuberance  fascinates  as  well 
as  flattens  me,"  said  the  august  Amut  in  his  fall 
"May  I  ask  the  cause?  Mind  you,  I  do  not 
insist.  You  well  know,  I  am  too  proud  to 
fight." 

"You  will  learn  in  time,  my  dear,"  laughed 
Verbeena  airily,  her  thoughts  running  ragingly 
in  the  line  of  movie  contracts,  of  a  day  soon 


THE  SHRIEK  119 

when  she  would  excel  the  gilded  harvestings  of 
Queen  Mary  herself. 

"Aw — please,  O,  clashing  cadence  of  my  soul's 
innermost  adoration,  let  your  Sheiky  know  what 
gives  you  such  happiness  divine!" 

"Nix-nix!"  said  Verbeena  with  excessive 
laughter,  "my  conquering  devil!  Have  you  fed 
the  camels  yet?  If  not,  spill  that  toga  and  hump 
yourself!" 

"Immediately,  O,  exquisite  creature  of  Al 
lah's  greatest  favor!  And  yet,  if  you'll  pardon 
me,  this  night  I  had  planned  taking  a  smack  at 
my  old  enemy,  Sheik  Abraham  O'Mara.  He's 
been  cutting  into  the  borders  of  our  sandpile 
considerable  lately.  E'er  this,  Queenie,  he  has 
always  been  scared  of  me.  But  now  he  rides 
about  the  wide  places,  the  narrow  and  the  cir 
cumambient  without  fear  or  dread  of  Amut  Ben 
Butler. 

"Once  his  goat  was  mine  but  now  he  thinks 
nothing  of  grabbing  my  horses  and  camels  any 
old  time." 

"Go  right  over  and  attend  to  him  this  eve 
ning,"  said  Verbeena.  "You  have  my  full  per 
mission.  If  he  gets  giddy  with  you  just  tell  him 


120 


THE  SHRIEK 


I'll  be  over  myself.  I've  heard  too  that  he  is 
uncommonly  cussed  among  the  women.  And 
him  a  black  Sheik  at  that — the  old  Ace  of 
Spades!  Tell  him " 


THE  SHEIK  ABRAHAM  O'MARA,   WHO   BEAT  IT  FOR  DEAR  LIFE 
ACROSS  THE  SAHARA  AT  SIGHT  OF  VERBEENA. 


"Tee-hee-hee!"  chuckled  the  lordly  Amut. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?"  demanded  his 
thoroughly  acknowledged  wife — (in  writing, 
you  remember). 


THE  SHRIEK  121 

"Just  look  over  on  the  horizon,  my  dear." 

"At  whom?" 

"Those  now  to  be  seen  scooting  out  of  sight 
across  it.  The  distance  is  great  but  I  recognize 
the  leading  figure  clearly  as  the  Sheik  Abraham 
O'Mara.  See  how  fat!  And  how  fast  he  travels ! 
And  yet  it  has  always  been  said  of  him  there 
was  danger  ever  when  that  fiend  was  abroad. 
But,  it  seems  he  saw  us  first." 

"Aha,  afeard  of  you,  my  Amut?" 

"Of  me,"  he  chuckled  again  and  again. 

For  the  first  time  in  months  the  Sheik  per 
mitted  himself  a  little  bold  laughter. 

"Of  me!" 

Once  home  in  the  tent  the  Sheik  Amut  Ben 
Butler  dared  to  put  his  arms  out  to  her.  He 
was  no  ordinary  man  to  succumb  to  the  fascina 
tions  of  a  woman.  You  had  to  hit  him  first. 

But  having  experienced  the  metallic  obstinacy 
of  Verbeena  Mayonnaise,  the  inflexibility  of  her 
character  and  seeing,  as  he  ecstatically  had,  the 
flight  of  his  powerful  and  avowed  enemy, 
Abraham  O'Mara,  he  was  fraught  with  the 
realization  that  love  had  become  a  force  in  his 
life  which  might  drive  him  to  anything  where 


THE  SHRIEK 

Verbeena  was  concerned,  predominantly  and 
irresistibly. 

He'd  be  trimming  her  curls  for  her  next. 

Amut's  arms  ached  for  her  and  always  ached 
worse  after  he  had  tried  to  hold  her. 

He  permitted  his  mind  to  careen  woefully  re 
garding  the  secret  Verbeena  was  withholding. 
Something  had  made  her  very  happy  and  as 
he  felt  nothing  to  boast  of  in  this  regard  he 
wondered  incontinently.  But  in  his  growing 
emotion  concerning  one  who  could  not  only  chase 
him  but  his  greatest  enemy  at  the  very  sight  of 
her,  the  Sheik  allowed  himself  a  sharp,  sobbing 
intake  of  breath. 

At  the  same  time  no  other  sign  escaped  him 
of  the  hell  he  was  enduring.  She  might  not 
like  it. 

But  he  couldn't  keep  his  mind  off  Verbeena 
for  the  distant  bowlings  of  jackals  came  closer 
and  closer. 

Still,  as  between  the  two,  he  certainly  liked  her 
best. 

And  what  was  this  secret  that  had  sent  her 
gamboling  high  among  the  palm  trees? 

He  had  asked  her  and  she  wouldn't  tell.    His 


THE  SHRIEK  123 

soul,  his  mind  and  heart  hammered,  stirred, 
tintinnabulated  and  undulated  to  find  out. 

Little  he  knew  then  that  vouchsafement  as  to 
this  might  have  been  regarded  generally  as 
pretty  closely  to  hand. 


CHAPTER  XII 

IT  was  a  Monday  morning  about  two  months 
later  and  the  Sheik  was  helping  Hulda 
hang  out  the  wash  in  the  back  of  the  Big 
Tent,  his  soul  pondering  in  trepidation,  even 
worry  as  one  might  say,  regarding  what  Ver- 
beena  was  contemplating,  what  she  was  rumina 
ting  with  such  open  evidences  of  liking  it,  in 
her  masterful,  little,  red-capped  noodle. 

Fear  suddenly  clutched  him  clamorously  by 
the  heart. 

It  rang  in  his  brain — ding-a-ling,  ding-a-ling- 
a-ling! 

They  were  now  stopping  at  the  Sahara  Golf 
club  oasis  which  is  really  a  mere  suburb  of 
Orange,  very  popular  because  the  golf  club 
oasis  was  the  wettest  on  the  desert  So  near 
Orange!  She  could,  she  would 

"Allah  save  my  skin,"  whispered  the  Sheik 
as  best  he  could  on  account  of  the  clothes-pins 
in  his  mouth  as  he  was  spearing  Verbeena's 

124 


THE  SHRIEK  125 

B.V.D.'s  to  the  line  hanging  low  between  the 
stately  palms. 

From  time  to  time  as  the  reversal  of  the  role 
he  played  in  her  life  came  to  his  quivering  lips 
in  cries  of  "Allah,  O,  Allah,  let  up  on  me!"  he 
had  managed  to  steal  a  horse-whip  or  two  and 
bury  it  in  the  sand  until  nearly  all  of  them  had 
disappeared.  It  was  not  consideration  for  the 
horses  which  had  led  to  those  depredations.  And 
now  the  thought  had  come  to  him  that  they  were 
so  near  Orange  she  might  ride  in  herself  or  send 
forth  a  blindly  obedient  equerry  thence  to  fetch 
a  new  supply  of  first  quality,  sturdy  horsehide 
lashes. 

"O,"  cried  Sheik  Amut  fervently,  "Allah, 
have  a  heart!" 

But  just  about  then  other  things  happened  to 
make  his  heart  tick  harder — like  a  grandfather's 
clock. 

He  and  Hulda  dropped  the  wash  to  rush  to 
the  front  of  the  tent  where  had  arrived  a  mes 
senger.  Sure,  on  horseback. 

"From  Orange!"  said  the  carrier  dismounting. 

"A  communication  for  me?"  asked  the  Sheik 
in  his  soft,  mild  tones. 


128  THE  SHRIEK 

"For  you?"  laughed  the  messenger,  scornfully 
unloading  two  big  bags.  "You!  By  Allah, 
stand  aside  and  don't  make  the  sandworms 
laugh!  Where's  Queen  Verbeena?" 

"By  the  same  Allah,"  returned  the  Sheik  with 
a  show  of  spirit,  "unless  your  business  is  of 
prime  importance  I  would  not  disturb  her  now. 
She  is  at  her  daily  exercise  within  and  cares 
never  then  to  be  interrupted." 

"Why  doesn't  she  exercise  with  a  horse?" 

"Idiot,  forbear  lest  she  overhear.  Besides,  it's 
not  that  sort  of  exercise  at  all.  For  three  hours 
each  morning  she  now  spends  her  time  making 
faces  in  the  looking  glass.  For  what  purpose 
when  I  ask  her  of  it,  she  orders  me  back  into  the 
open  as  being  none  of  my  Oriental  damned  busi 
ness.  What's  in  the  bags?" 

"Letters — letters — thousands — all  for  her." 

"Yet,  by  Allah,  it  is  not  Valentine's  day." 

"True." 

"No,  but  by  Allah,  it's  near  the  first  month. 
I  wonder  what  bills  she's  been  running  up!" 
faltered  the  Sheik. 

Now  the  letters — there  is  no  use  keeping  a 
person's  readers  waiting — were  in  reality,  in 


THE  SHRIEK 

response  to  an  advertisement  she  had  secretly 
placed  in  several  theatrical  newspapers.  It  had 
read: 

"Famous  Lost  Lady  on  Sahara  Open  for 
Moving  Picture  Engagement.  No  triflers.  Ad 
dress  P.  Oasis  Box  No.  17  via  Orange." 

The  messenger  was  now  bearing  to  Mrs.  The 
Sheik  Amut  Ben  Butler  thirty  thousand  and 
forty-six  communications  from  all  the  choicest 
open-air  murder  colonies  in  the  country. 

But  true  enterprise,  real  enterprise,  enterprise 
in  the  magnificent,  was  incarnated  in  the  person 
of  the  celebrated  Mr.  Cyril  Gristmille  for  on 
that  very  instant  he  descended  grandly  in  person 
in  an  aeroplane.  Slightly  on  his  ear  but  soon 
readjusted  himself.  He  had  faced  this  small 
accident  without  turning  a  hair.  He  hadn't  any. 

"See  here,"  cried  the  Sheik  Amut,  "what  the 
hellah  do  you  mean  by  swooping  down  this  way 
on  these  grounds?  Don't  you  see  what  youVe 
done?  YouVe  scared  the  horses  and  camels  and 
scattered  them  all  over  the  desert!  And,  may 
Allah's  curses  crack  your  skull,  you've  knocked 
down  the  week's  wash  and  if  you  knew  my 
wife " 


128 


THE  SHRIEK 


Mr.  Gristmille  gracefully  drew  a  slender 
cigarette  case  from  a  lower  waistcoat  pocket — 
yep,  he  had  the  habit  too — 
and  said: 

"Well,  then,  don't  stand 
there  like  a  fathead  looking 
at  them  run  away,  my  man. 
You  and  your  other  ragbags 
get  busy  and  catch  'em  again. 
I  may  need  'em  shortly." 

"Need  'em?  What  do 
you  want?" 

"My  business  is  not  with 
you.  But  unless  I  am  im 
properly  informed  this  tent 
harbors  the  famous  lost  Eng 
lish  desert  girl,  Miss  Ver- 
beena  Mayonnaise?" 

"That  was,"  said  Sheik 
Amut  sticking  up  his  nose  at 
this  haughty  stranger. 


CYRIL  GRISTMILLE,   THE 
GREAT   WOMAN    TAMER. 


"She's  my  wife  now." 

"Go  in  the  tent  then  and 
tell  her  to  come  out  to  me — Mr.  Cyril  Gristmille 
— immediately.  I  would  do  business  with  her." 


THE  SHRIEK  129 

"You  would?" 

"Hasten.  Go  right  in  and  tell  her  to  come 
out  promptly." 

"Go  in  and  tell  her  yourself,"  said  Amut.  "I'm 
tired  trying  to  tell  her  to  do  anything. 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Gristmille  and  stalked 
toward  the  main  tent. 

Sheik  Amut  and  Spaghetti  who  was  being 
given  another  trial  by  Verbeena  after  his  com 
plete  surrender  of  his  garlic  supply,  and  the 
Sheik's  other  two  pals,  Yusef  and  Hamandaigs, 
looked  one  another  keenly  in  the  eyes  and  began 
openly  holding  their  ribs. 

But  to  their  surprise  no  pistol  reports  or 
manly  howls  for  help  arose  from  within  the 
tent. 

Instead  the  elegant,  pallid-faced  Mr.  Grist 
mille  who  had  changed  from  his  aeroplane  cap 
into  a  high  hat  before  entering  the  tent — instead 
then  of  Mr.  Gristmille  emerging  with  a  scimitar 
wrapped  around  his  neck  or  his  hat  jammed 
down  over  his  eyes — instead  of  this,  O,  Allah, 
his  haughty  intrusion  into  the  tent  of  the  doughty 
little  Sheik  tamer  passed  off  in  most  perfect 
quiet  and  presently — hands  up  to  Allah  again! — 


130  THE  SHRIEK 

he  emerged  with  Verbeena — with  Verbeena! — 
why  they  hardly  recognized  her!  the  way  she 
was  acting! 

Her  sturdy,  cocky  boyish  nonchalance  was 
gone,  no  longer  did  she  swagger  and  scowl,  the 
little  roughneck.  Instead  she  had  become  as 
feminine  as  a  powder  puff! 

A  mincing,  smiling,  trusting-eyed  little  red 
headed  dear! 

She  was  looking  up  into  the  cameo  profile  of 
the  illustrious  and  bill-postered  countenance  of 
Cyril  Gristmille  as  one  might  gaze  into  the  eye 
of  a  golden  idol  or  a  $10,000,000  check. 

Every  little  trick  of  ingenuous  girlhood  was 
in  everything  that  little  Verbeena  did  and  the 
wondering  Amut,  Spaghetti  and  Hulda  and 
Yusef  and  Hamandaigs  ran  around  telling  the 
tribe  about  it.  And  they  all  agreed  they  just 
simply  couldn't  believe  it  was  Verbeena. 

They  all  said  it  was  if  it  were  some  female 
member  of  her  family. 

But  had  these  innocents  ever  seen  Mary  Pick- 
ford  they  would  have  known  where  Verbeena 
was  getting  her  stuff.  Little  did  they  know  she'd 
been  practicing  up  on  it  this  many  a  day. 


THE  SHRIEK  181 

And  the  while  in  accents  as  honeyed  as  her 
glances  she  was  saying: 

"O,  Mister — Mister  Gristmille,  it  has  been  so 
good  of  you  to  come!  With  all  that  money! 

"And  do  you  really  think  you  can  make  an 
actress  of  me?  Really?" 

"I?— Why  I,"  said  Mr.  Cyril  Gristmille, 
"could  make  an  actress  of  a  doughboy  to  say 
nothing  of  so  perfect  a  little  gentleman  as  you." 

"How  adorable!    What  do  I  do  first?" 

"The  first  thing  you  do,"  he  said,  and  sud 
denly  took  her  by  the  shoulder  and  shook  her 
thoroughly,  "is  to  understand  that  you  do  every 
little  damn  thing  I  tell  you  without  making  any 
fuss  or  faces  about  it.  Do  you  get  me?" 

He  shook  her  again  till  her  curls  rattled. 

Verbeena  listened  breathlessly  and  breathless 
isn't  much  of  a  word  for  it.  Her  heart  wobbled. 

"You  are  always  to  remember  I — /  am  boss. 

"And  don't  you  try  to  carry  out  any  notions  of 
your  own  while  you  are  acting  around  me. 

"You  are  to  look,  walk,  talk,  eat,  weep,  whim 
per,  smile,  sob,  stalk,  twirl,  mince,  mope,  wrig 
gle,  squirm,  turn,  stand,  run,  race,  limp,  love, 
lallygag,  or  any  old  other  darn  thing  I  mention 


132  THE  SHRIEK 

and  demand  just  as  you  hear  me  give  the  orders 
to  do  it  or  I'll  take  you  and  your  movie  aspira 
tions  and  bury  them  for  once  and  all  ten  thou 
sand  feet  deep  right  in  here  in  the  sands  of  the 
Sahara! 

"Once  again,"  he  fixed  her  with  his  piercing 
eye,  "I  ask — do  you  get  me?" 

What  Verbeena  got  was  very  hot  under  her 
boyish  Eton  collar  and  meant  to  answer  him 
scornfully  but  she  felt  her  heart  beating  as  if  it 
meant  to  beat  it  altogether. 

However,  the  Movie  Maharajah  was  not  pay 
ing  the  slightest  attention  to  how  she  took  it  at 
all.  He  was  giving  his  attention  to  a  flock  of 
camera  men,  actors  and  such  like  arriving  in 
2,000  aeroplanes  that  left  for  the  Sahara  that 
morning  from  Los  Angeles. 

She  could  not  fight  down  the  thrill  that  came 
at  the  study  she  then  began  somewhat  surrepti 
tiously  to  make  of  the  commanding  figure  of  the 
Movie  Monarch  among  his  men.  The  way  he 
talked  to  them  was  a  shame.  The  way  they  took 
it,  cringing,  cowering,  fawning  yet  with  adora 
tion  in  their  eyes,  was  a  wonder. 

He  seemed  suddenly  to  remember  her. 


THE  SHRIEK  133 

"What  are  you  standing  there  goofing  for  and 
staring  that  way  at  me?  Don't  you  know  that 
you  are  to  be  a  girl  in  the  first  reel?" 

"I — I,"  hot  shame  mantled  Verbeena's  cheek. 
Why  was  it  she  did  not  step  straight  forward 
and  punch  him  in  the  nose?  But  somehow,  he 
made  her  so  acutely  conscious  of  her  sex,  or, 
rather,  of  what  sex  he  wanted  of  her. 

"You  are  to  be  a  girl  in  this  first  reel  I  tell 
you.  Get  back  into  your  tent  and  take  that  foot 
ball  suit  off  and  put  on  something  close,  cling 
ing,  and  when  you  get  it  on  work  up  a  good, 
hippy  walk — hippy  and  a  bit  slouchy.  Go  on 
instantly,  and  get  him  off  and  put  her  on." 

The  man  was  simply  terrible.  With  dragging 
feet  she  retreated  to  her  tent  and  for  the  boy's 
clothes  that  somehow  made  her  feel  good  and 
tough  and  ready  to  take  chances  with  both  hands, 
she  submergedly  substituted  a  frock  that  she  was 
fiercely  angry  with  herself  to  find  herself,  in 
dubitably  she  herself,  hoping  would  please  him. 

And  it  didn't — no  chance. 

Not  with  that  movie  mahout. 

"In  the  name  of  all  that's  horrible!"  he  cried 
at  her.  "Is  that  the  best  thing  youVe  got  to 


134  THE  SHRIEK 

offer  in  clothes?  It  doesn't  fit  you — it  flops! 
Here — that  skirt  wants  shortening  and  it  wants 
tightening  too,  and  you  can  only  see  the  half  of 
the  small  of  your  back.  Away  with  that  flock  of 
rags!  Got  any  others — in  heaven's  name,  an 
swer!" 

"Yes — yes,  sir." 

"Go  in  and  put  another  one  on  then  and  for 
the  love  of  Pete,  try  to  pick  something  that  looks 
like  something  above  a  dollar  ninety-eight  on  a 
bargain  counter.  Take  that  off — quick!  Must  I 
be  your  dressmaker  as  well  as  your  director?" 

"O,  sir,"  sobbed  Verbeena  Mayonnaise. 

"And  hurry  up  about  it,"  came  his  slow  but 
icy  tones  as  she  hurried  tentwards  to  hurry  up 
just  as  fast  as  she  hasten  well  could. 

"Let's  see,"  he  conceded  on  his  second  sight  of 
her,  "that's  awful  as  the  other  but — O  well — 
come  here  then — here  is  him  whom  is  to  be 
your  leading  man  in  this  heart-stirring  and 
world-thrilling  romance  of  my  forthcoming 
creation.  He  is  to  be  your  leading  man,  but  I 
will  attend  in  all  respects  as  to  where  he  will 
lead  you." 

Verbeena  saw  as  she  was  introduced  to  this 


THE  SHRIEK  135 

young  man  that  he  was  exquisitely  handsome,  his 
face  only  saved  from  effeminacy  by  a  firm  chin. 
He  was  tall,  lithe,  slender  as  a  wand.  Al 
though  she  had  never  been  introduced  to  him 
before  she  recognized  him  instantly  for  it  was 
Fatty  Arbuckle! 


CHAPTER   XIII 

f  I  ^HE  Mighty  Gristmille  gave  her  no  time 
to  recover  but  plunged  right  ahead 

-*-  with  his  ethological  processes  con 
cerning  herself. 

"The  story  of  this  picture  which  I  am  about 
to  make  in  order  that  it  may  ring  down  the  ages 
is  soul-grasping  and  spirit  stirring,"  said  the  di 
rector  to  Verbeena  in  a  greatly  animated  man 
ner,  "and  that' s  all  you  need  to  know  about  it 
in  order  to  know  about  what  you  are  doing.  In 
fact,  there's  no  particular  reason  that  you  should 
know  what  you  are  doing.  But,"  he  grasped  her 
chin  sharply  and  threw  her  head  back  with  an 
artistic  touch  that  jarred  her  teeth,  "it  is  impor 
tant  that  you  do  what  I  say.  And  don't  you  try  to 
do  anything  else  unless  you  are  ambitious  to  end 
your  life  as  a  canned  chicken." 

"But "  stammered  Verbeena  who  was  be 
ginning  to  suspect  deep  down  after  all  she  per 
haps  was  really  a  girl. 

136 


THE  SHRIEK  137 

"But  nothing — and  throw  away  that  cigarette 
butt  too.  I'm  not  against  cigarettes.  All  heroes 
and  vamps  smoke  yards  of  'em  on  orders.  But 
in  this  scene  you're  a  sweet  thing — just  a  sweet 
thing — though  God  knows  if  I'll  be  able  to  prove 
it  to  the  camera  eye  or  anybody  else. 

"Here — take  this  rose — smell  it." 

"It  doesn't  smell  at  all,"  said  Verbeena. 

"They  don't  when  made  of  paper,"  said  the 
great  Gristmille.  And  for  some  reason  she  saw 
that  he  suddenly  gently  smiled.  He  regarded 
Verbeena  with  a  new  light  in  his  eye — one 
nearly  of  approval.  "Just  about  the  right  in 
telligence,"  he  was  murmuring  to  himself,  "out 
of  which  to  mold  a  great  star.  I'll  show  Dave 
Belasco  where  he  stands  yet." 

But  his  terrifying  eyes  blazed  anew  at  Ver 
beena  Mayonnaise. 

"Now — here  don't  hold  that  flower  like  it  was 
a  flagpole  in  a  Suffragette  parade!  Turn  your 
wrist  a  bit,  give  a  flaunting  yet  a  timorous  grace 
to  it  and  now  you  step  over — lots  of  hip  work — 
hip-hip-hippy — O,  for  God's  sake,  hippy!  The 
boyish  beauty's  off  the  map  in  the  scene — hip 
work  now — hip  work — rotten — rotten — rotten — 


138  THE  SHRIEK 

hip  work,  hip,  hip,  hippy — and  you  give  the 
flower  to  our  hero." 

"Why  am  I  giving  him  the  flower?" 

"None  of  your  damned  business!  Give  it  to 
him — that's  all  you  have  to  do.  I'm  doing  all 
the  knowing  why  for  this  outfit. 

"Heaven  save  the  day,  I  didn't  tell  you  to  hit 
him  with  it!  Give  it  to  him — timidly — timidly 
— you  are  afraid  of  him." 

There  was  just  a  flash  of  the  old  dear,  boyish 
Verbeena. 

"I  don't  care  who  he  is,  I'm  not  afraid  of 
him,"  she  declared  stoutly. 

"Is  that  so?"  said  the  director  severely.  "But 
remember  you  are  afraid  of  me!  And  don't  try 
to  tell  me  you  are  not!" 

UT J> 

"Don't  ever  open  your  mouth  like  that  when 
speaking!  You  are  a  heroine — not  a  walrus! 
Now  then — the  tender  scene — giving  the  flower 
to  Rinaldo — shush,  I  didn't  mean  to  let  that 
much  out  as  to  the  story  but — well,  you  might 
as  well  know  right  now  that  the  hero  is  Rinaldo 
Ringrose — that's  Mr.  Arbuckle's  name  in  the 
picture. 


THE  SHRIEK  139 

"Now  then,  advance — hip,  hip,  hip — that's 
better — a  little  better — except  that  you  still  look 
like  a  boy  in  skirts,  one  of  those  damn  pretty 
ones  and  a  damn  silly  one  at  that." 

Verbeena  gasped.  Through  her  thick  lashes 
she  regarded  this  man  of  the  gyratory  wealth 
of  gestures  whose  dominating  spirit  it  was  mani 
fest  was  to  be  seen.  She  feared — began  to  fear — 
almost  started  to  be  afraid  that  the  Verbeena 
of  old  was  dead  or  nearly  corpsical.  Her  old 
doughty  self,  she  grovelingly  began  to  consider, 
was  starting  to  decline.  Her  fighting  stamina 
she  felt  would  soon  be  selling  for  date  seeds  on 
the  Sahara  Exchange. 

And  yet  how  noble  he  was ! 

His  manner  of  using  a  cigarette  case  was  so 
much  more  graceful  than  her  own. 

And  he  seemed  to  know  everything.  Certainly 
he  thought  he  did. 

And  all  his  men  gave  him  such  blind  obedi 
ence.  He  had  a  trick  of  flashing  the  sun  in  their 
eyes  from  his  cigarette  case  that  probably  caused 
them  to  do  this,  she  deducted. 

Two  days  passed  before  he  finally  decided  she 
haS  given  the  hero  the  rose  properly.  That, 


140  THE  SHRIEK 

doubtless,  was  why  they  used  artificial  roses.  A 
real  one  couldn't  last  out  a  rehearsal. 

But  somehow,  in  the  depths  of  her  harrowed, 
deeply  embittered,  astonished  young  soul,  she 
was  humbly  glad  that  at  last  she  had  given  the 
hero  the  rose  properly. 

"That's  that,"  said  the  High  Mandarin  of  the 
Movies,  "and  although  worse  than  bad  eggs,  in 
other  things  you  may  stand  a  chance  of  realizing 
my  genius  for  me  in  the  soul-stirring,  magnifi 
cent,  marvelous,  magnitudinous  work  of  art  I 
am  on  the  brink  of  creating.  Come — come — a 
little  loud  and  prolonged  applause — everybody 
please.  I  thank  you. 

"The  next  scene  will  call  for  you  saying 
a  tender  farewell — keep  remembering  your  sex, 
madame — with  your  lover  under  a  tree.  An 
apple  tree  in  full  bloom." 

"There  aren't  apple  trees  on  the  desert,"  Ver- 
beena  with  simply  idiotic  indiscretion  observed. 

The  director  flung  his  hat  on  the  sand,  kicked 
it  in  the  air,  ran  around  the  desert  on  all  fours 
for  a  mile,  then  arose  majestically. 

"How  'dare  you!    Can't  you  see  that  under 


THE  SHRIEK  141 

one  of  those  tall  palm  trees  the  shadows  wouldn't 
fall  right  on  the  picture?  No  blossoming  apple 
trees  on  the  desert,  eh?  I  guess  you  don't  know 
me!  Billy,  an  apple  tree,  full  blossom!" 

The  man  addressed  obeyed  swiftly.  In  a  jiffy 
he  had  brought  one  from  the  property  aeroplane 
and  raised  it  in  place. 

"O,  Good  Lord,"  again  and  again  reverberated 
in  the  ears  of  Verbeena,  "you  squint  so  with  that 
snub-nosed  face  of  yours !  You — gently — gently, 
gently  into  his  arms.  You're  not  wrestling  him 
— you're  loving  him — you — not  that  sidelong 
glance — a  big  look  into  his  eyes  and  now  then — 
remember  although  we've  only  begun  here,  this 
is  the  end  of  the  picture — the  final  close-up — 
now,  extend  lips  in  full,  both — stick  'em  way  out 
— that's  it — now  then,  kiss — kiss — hold  that — 
hold  it — kiss,  kiss,  kiiiiiiiisssssssssss!" 

"You  know  nothing  of  kissing!  Nothing! 
And  you're  supposed  to  have  had  Oriental  train 
ing  too!  Here— come  here — like  THIS!  Kiss 
—kiss— LIKE  THIS!! 

A  gleam  of  anger  shot  into  Verbeena's  tired 
eyes  but  she  was  powerless.  The  compelling 


WHEREIN  THE  MOVIE  MAHOUT  INFORMS  VERBEENA  SHE  WILL  NEXT 

BE  REQUIRED  TO  BE  SHOT  OUT  OF  A  PALM  TREE  BY  HER  LOVER  IN 

MISTAKE  FOR  A  SQUIRREL. 


THE  SHRIEK  143 

quality  of  this  terrible  creature,  the  force  with 
which  he  held  her,  the  exultant,  horrible,  heavy, 
hot,  and,  she  could  feel,  relentless,  half  savagely 
cruel,  indifferent  way  he  was  doing  it  to  her! 

She  dropped  to  her  knees  at  the  end  of  it  beg 
ging  for  mercy. 

He  laughed  at  her  coldly. 

"You  must  get  the  idea  of  it — the  sooner  the 
better,"  he  said  with  a  hauteur  that  made  her 
cringe  back  into  her  old  caterpillar  crouch. 

"Now  the  next  scene — and  we  must  hurry  up 
or  the  light  will  be  bad — is  where  you  are  shot 
out  of  the  top  of  a  palm  tree  by  your  lover  in 
mistake  for  a  squirrel. 

"Come  now — action  —  Cameras !  —  Cameras 
train  on  that  palm  tree  over  there.  The  tallest 
one,  of  course.  Remember,  Mrs.  Amut,  you  fall 
dead — a  dead  fall — right  straight  out  of  the  tree 
on  your  face.  What's  that?  Dangerous?  Non 
sense  !  And  what  if  it  is  ?  What  do  you  suppose 
we  are  paying  you  for?  What's  a  cracked  nose 
for  art's  sake!  No  more  nonsense,  no  more 
words — up  you  go!" 

Verbeena  climbed. 

Sometime  later  on  being  restored  to  conscious- 


144  THE  SHRIEK 

ness  wherein  she  knew  what  was  going  on  around 
her,  she  heard  the  great  Gristmille  saying: 

"Very  well,  hop  up  there,  leading  woman!  All 
ready  for  the  next  scene." 

"What— what  is  it?"  faltered  Verbeena. 

"How  dare  you  ask  questions?  Your  instruc 
tions  will  all  come  in  due  time.  And  now's  the 
time! 

"In  the  next  scene  you  fall  from  your  horse — 
you're  shot  or  something,  perhaps  struck  in  the 
back  with  a  lance — I  haven't  quite  made  up  my 
mind — and  then  you  will  be  run  over  by  a  herd 
of  wild  Arabian  horses  with  Mr.  Arbuckle  pur 
suing  in  the  hope  of  rescue  borne  by  eleven 
camels,  one  for  the  hope  and  ten  for  Mr.  Ar 
buckle. 

"Come  now — quick — and  remember  you  are 
not  to  look  frightened  as  the  horses — about  two 
thousand  of  them — rush  over  you.  As  a  heroine 
you  are  calm-eyed  in  the  face  of  certain  death. 
If  you  do  we'll  have  to  keep  repeating  the  scene 
and  I  don't  want  to  give  too  much  time  to  it. 

"Come  on  now — there  must  be  no  delay — the 
horses  are  ready — at  great  expense — they  are 
ready  and  now— hey,  Billy,  Jim,  Grady,  Bert— 


THE  SHRIEK  145 

quick — how  dare  she! — quick — catch  that  girl!" 
But  Verbeena's  early  education  when  she  used 

to  beat  all  the  Harrow  boys  at  sprinting  served 

her  well. 

She  covered  the  three  miles  back  to  her  own 

Oasis  leaving  all  pursuers  in  the  ruck.     Time 
seconds,  but  record  not  official. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

VERBEENA  floundered  wild-eyed,  wide- 
mouthed,  panting  into  the  tent  of  the 
Sheik  Amut  Ben  Butler. 

She  fled  into  the  arms  of  Amut.  She 
clung  there  girlishly  trembling,  so  tired  she  was 
exhausted. 

"O,  dash  it  all,  dash  it  all — that  man — that 
man — that  terrible  man!  Save — save  me!  I'm 
all  for  you  and  Allah  hereafter,  Amut,  save — 
save  me — save  me  from  that  terrible  man!" 

He  held  her  as  he  had  never  held  her  before 
— as  he  never  had  been  able  to  hold  her  before. 

He  regarded  the  pitiful,  gasping  little  figure 
which  tried  to  kneel  at  his  feet,  and,  once  more 
a  deep  and  splendid  chestiness  came  upon  Amut 
Ben  Butler. 

He — in  spite  of  all — Allah,  and  by  Jove,  he 
loved  her! 

He  had  long  wrestled  with  himself  concerning 

146 


THE  SHRIEK  147 

it  because  it  was  preferable  than  trying  to 
wrestle  with  Verbeena. 

Ah,  the  dear  head  now  drooping  that  once  so 
proudly  poised  with  its  jaunty  clubbed  curls. 

A  lion's  heart  grew  under  the  jelab  of  the 
old-time  Boss  of  Oasis  Nos.  4,  5,  12  and  16. 

There  was  the  sound  of  horsery  and  the 
clangor  and  click  of  camera  men  without. 

"Save  me,  O  God,  save  me!"  gasped  Verbeena 
anew.  "That  man — that  terrible  man!" 

Amut  Ben  Butler  strode  proudly  to  the  flap 
of  his  tent  and  looked  out. 

"You  just  go  away  from  here,  every  one  of 
you,  do  you  hear?  Yes,  I  mean  you  too — you 
big  stiff  with  the  silver  cigarette  case!  I  think 
it's  phoney  anyway.  My  wife  doesn't  care  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  you  and  I  don't  either. 
So  back  to  your  aeroplanes  and  flooey!" 

In  horror,  in  abject  dread  Verbeena's  clubbed 
curls  were  buried  in  the  cushions.  But  in  a  little 
while  her  distrait,  white  face  was  lifted. 

"Amut,"  she  ventured,  "Amut — has  he  gone?" 

Amut  Ben  Butler  carefully  flicked  a  sand- 
worm  off  his  silver  and  black  girdle. 

"Sure,  darling,"  he  answered.    "I  just  went 


148  THE  SHRIEK 

out  and  sent  that  whole  moving  picture  outfit 
reeling,  Kingpin  and  all! 

She  crept  closely  to  him.  Her  strong  young 
arms  went  about  him. 

"Amut,  my  love,"  she  pleaded,  "will  you 
promise  not  to  run  away  from  me  any  more?" 

"May  Allah  cross  my  eyes  and  crack  my  teeth, 
if  ever  again  I  think  of  it,  my  vibrant  Verbie. 
I  wouldn't  wanter — ever — the  way  you  act  to 
me  now — so  nice — so  loving — just  like  a  regular 
girlie." 

He  kissed  her  otherwise  clubbed  curls. 

They  snuggled  close. 

Ooooooh,  awful  close! 

Throbs  palpitant  and  passionate  passed  from 
one  to  the  other — strong,  vertiginous,  terrific,  as 
of  an  aching  tooth. 

"Tell  me,  Amut,"  she  said  more  softly  than 
she  ever  knew  she  could,  "who  after  all  the 
dickens  are  you?" 

His  blue  eyes  sparkling  like  opals  in  their 
ardor,  looked  down  upon  her  with  a  tenderness 
too  ineffable  to  matriculate.  But  he  sighed  and 
was  silent. 

"And — and  why  do  you  hate  the  English?" 

"Hate  the  English?    With  you  in  my  arms, 


THE  SHRIEK  149 

sweet  Verbie?    Hate  the  English!    Only  I  used 

to,  Verbeena  mine — used  to.    But " 

"Who — who  are  you?  Amut,  as  yoi^  love  me 
speak!" 

UT 7) 

"You " 

"Am " 

"Are " 

"I — I  can  hold  the  secret  back  from  you  no 
longer,  throbbing  jewel  of  my  passion.  I " 

"You " 

"Am "  He  doffed  his  turban  and  stood 

erect.  He  glanced  fixedly  into  her  uplifted  eyes. 
"The  Crown  Prince!" 

"Crown  Prince!  Amut.  Crown  Prince  of — 
of " 

"Of  Chermany!" 

"Mine  Gott!"  gasped  Verbeena! 

"That  partnership  has  been  dissolved,  Ver 
beena  lieber.  But  as  soon  as  Popper  schnapps 
the  manacles  of  Holland  off  him,  a  new  and 
splendid  project  will  be  put  in  operation  by  us 
ever  magnificent  and  glorious  Hohenzollerns. 
New  and  great  fortunes  await  us — here  on  the 
desert,  Verbeenalina !  You  bet  your  life  on 
thatl  What  do  you  think?  We  intend  to  estab- 


150  THE  SHRIEK 

lish  a  chain  of  Imperial  Breweries  on  the  Sa 
hara  where  everybody  is  always  so  thirsty.  Isn't 
that  great,  Verbie?  How's  that  for  high?" 

"Great— but  I— I  am  English!" 

"Aw — the  war's  over!  Aw — come  on,  be  a 
good  little  feller — I  mean  sweetheart.  Stick 
along." 

"But  your  princess!" 

"The  Sahara  is  a  wide-spot  and  there  ain't 
many  princesses  got  the  fare  to  Reno  these  days, 
Verbeenagaborden.  And,  besides,  didn't  you 
draw  up  a  fine  Saharatic  marriage  contract?  In 
lots  of  desert  love  affairs  in  the  novels  they  jolly 
well — how  do  you  like  my  English  so  swell 
spoken  to  please  you? — don't  never  get  so  far  as 
a  scrap  of  paper  between  them.  Nothing  be 
tween  them — just  nothing  but " 

Verbeena  looked  at  him  demurely. 

"True  for  you,  Goldielocks,"  said  she,  adding 
with  a  courage  that  was  easily  tantamount  to 
bravery,  "I'd  rather  be  respectable  than  a  best 
seller  any  day! 

"But — who  in  the  world  are  these  people 
around  you?  Spaghetti — who  is  he?" 

"The  only  ferdombt  Italian  who  stuck  when 


THE  SHRIEK  151 

the  treaty  busted.  Popper  was  going  to  make 
him  King  of  Rome  or  something  good  like  that 
only  for  what  happened." 

"And  Hulda?" 

"Sh — the  Grand  Duchess  Hautenglauten- 
schlitzenburg!  She's  hiding!" 

"From  what?" 

"That  name." 

"But  Mr.  Hitchings — however  did  you  come 
to  have  him  for  a  friend?" 

"Verbeenaheimer,"  laughed  the  Crown  Prince, 
"that  wasn't  Mr.  Hitchings.  It's  Charlie  of  Aus 
tria.  He  expects  to  organize  a  circus  troupe  and 
enter  Vienna  with  a  large  company  of  desert 
men,  himself  disguised  as  a  dancing  girl.  Then 
some  night  they  will  burst  from  the  tent  and 
Charlie  will  pull  his  crown  from  under  his  skirts 
and — there  you  are!  He'll  be  king  again — for 
a  minute. 

"But  me  and  popper  and  the  chain  of 
breweries " 

"Ah!" 

"Yah!" 

She  snuggled  to  him  closer  and  closer  and 
closer  and  closer  and  closer  than  that.  Her  mag- 


THE  SHRIEK 

nificent  long  black  lashes  dusted  off  his  cheek. 
She  smoothed  back  the  fair  hair  that  had  been 
so  strange  to  her  in  company  with  the  jet 
whiskers  that  once  he  had  worn.  She  thought 
of  Cyril  Gristmille  and  then  she  clung  to  him 
like  a  little  leech — only,  you  know,  a  warm 
leech. 

"My  prince — my  prince — my  Sheik  Amut 
Never  Ben  King,"  she  sighed  gustfully. 

Entranced  he  grasped  her  to  him  fiercely  his 
lips  against  her  lips!  Their  eyes  were  blazing, 
their  veins  throbbing,  their  bodies  writhing  as 
he  whispered  tensely,  tickling  her  under  the 
chin: 

"Tweetsy,  tweetsy,  Verbeena  mine!" 

Beyond  the  tent  flap  they  saw  the  silver  shaft 
of  the  magic  moon  and  caught  glimpses  of  the 
stately  palms  where  the  dates  clustered  into  the 
years  and  to  their  ears  came  the  sweet,  silvery, 
insistent,  impassioned  twillipping  of  the  sand- 
worms,  the  neighing  of  the  beloved  horses,  the 
music  of  the  mules  and  the  vibrant  sweet  cough 
of  the  camels. 

In  delicious  hectic  harmony  their  pulses  beat 
mutually  at  no. 


*?» 


iMPERlflL  SflHRRH 
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